Stormy Weather
by TracyJean
Summary: Harm and Mac fall into each other's arms and storm clouds begin gathering in their lives as a consequence
1. Part 1

I sigh as I close the file open in front of me. We've been at this for almost two hours and we're no closer to hammering out a defense angle then we were when we started. I look over at Mac and find that she has lost interest in the case also. Instead, she's leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed, her hands rubbing her shoulders and neck.

I can't help looking at her, safe in the knowledge that she can't see me. I imagine myself rubbing the tension from her shoulders. Nothing I haven't done before for real, but in my thoughts it goes farther than that. My hands slip down her body until they find the lower edge of her sweater, gently tugging it upward until I pull it over her arms and head. I place my hands on her now bare stomach, enjoying the feel of her soft skin beneath my fingertips before they move higher to cup. . . .

She opens her eyes to find me looking at her. Can she tell what I am thinking? I hope not. I've missed having my best friend around and I want that back. She can't ever know that I want more. I always have. But she's made her choice and I have to live with it. I'll be happy for her. . . .even if it's slowly killing me inside.

I've got to stop this. Deciding we need some kind of diversion, I suggest, "Why don't we go out and get something to eat? There's several places within walking distance." We need to get out of this apartment, out of this confining space. Or rather, I do.

She stares at me intently. It's almost as if she can see right through me. After an intense moment, she tears her eyes away and answers softly, "Sounds good. We could use a break."

Why do I have a feeling that she's not just talking about this case?

-----

We ate at a little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria near Union Station and we're now just wandering around, enjoying each other's company. I can't remember the last time we did anything like this. We used to run together all the time, have dinner at each other's places even if we weren't working on cases - there are so many things that we used to do that I miss. But now she has Mic, I have Renee and unfortunately, both have a somewhat possessive and jealous nature.

But none of that matter right now. Renee has gone to California on a shoot and to be frank, I am happy to put some distance between us. Lately, she has been dropping a lot of hints about things that I want no part of, at least not with her. A few weeks ago, when my mother stopped by unexpectedly on her way home from Europe, I had the hardest time forcing myself not to react when Renee suggested that I ask Mom where Frank had gotten her new ring. Just when did we get that serious? To be honest, for me she is just a distraction from the pain that is slowly eating away at me inside. I need to put a stop to it. As much as I can never love her the way she apparently wants me to, I am too much of a gentleman to let it go on with her expecting things that I just don't have it in me to give. I just have to figure out a way to let her down gently.

I look over at Mac walking next to me, her gaze fixed on some imaginary point off in the distance and I idly wonder where Mic is. He must be out of town or otherwise occupied tonight. I can't imagine that he would approve of Mac spending the evening at my apartment, even if it is for work. Hell, I don't think he really approves of us remaining friends. But even if I can never have more, she's the best friend I've ever had and I refuse to let him take that away from me. Not now that we're finding our way to being the best of friends again.

"Pleasant night tonight," I say idly and I'm not just talking about the weather.

She looks at me, an unreadable expression on her face, as she simply replies, "Yes, it is." Then she smiles at me, a smile that warms me up inside. How long has it been since she's smiled at me like that? I can't remember and I hate that. Not for the first time, I wonder if we would be at this place right now if I hadn't returned to flying.

No more thinking like this, at least not for the rest of this evening. I just want to relax and enjoy spending time with Mac. "Do you want to walk around some more or are you ready to head back and work on the case?" I ask, grinning at her.

She appears to ponder the question for a moment. She then answers reluctantly, "I suppose we should head back. We still have a lot of work to do if we have any hope of getting Linson off."

She's right, of course. Without another word, we turn around and start heading back in the direction we came from. We walk in companionable silence for a few minutes, but I want to hear her voice. But what can we talk about? There are so many things that it is best not to talk about between us if I want the evening to remain pleasant. Finally, I settle on something that has nothing to do with our significant others or this impossible situation between us.

"Have you talked to your uncle recently?" I ask, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets. There is a slight chill in the air and it is only getting chillier as the evening wears on.

"I called him a few days ago to wish him a happy birthday," she says, looking straight ahead. "He sounds good, I guess. As good as someone sitting in Leavenworth can sound, anyway. He said to say hello."

"That's good to hear," I respond. I really like Matt O'Hara and wish there was more that I could have done for him. As it was, given the gravity of his crime, I was extremely lucky to get him off with as light a sentence as I did. He's also the only person that Mac's given her respect and love to that actually deserves it as far as I'm concerned.

"So what about you?" she asks, folding her arms across her chest and rubbing her arms with her hands to ward off the chill. I want so much to take her in my arms and warm her all over, but I can't. "Have you spoken to your parents recently?"

"Actually, Mom stopped by for a quick visit a few weeks ago on her way home from Europe," I tell her. "She and Frank renewed their wedding vows over there. She looked very good. Frank had some business to take care of, so he wasn't with her."

"So did you have a nice visit with her?" she continues, glancing at me. I smile at her, glad that she has finally relaxed enough that she can look at me. So much of this evening she has been looking anywhere but.

"Actually, it was a little awkward," I reply, the smile dropping from my face as I stop walking to lean against a sign post. She stops also and just looks at me, waiting for me to explain my last statement. I look down at the ground for a moment, studying the cracks in the sidewalk. Here's another of those impossible situations. Finally, I add, "I was going to tell her about Sergei, but I couldn't."

"Why not?" she asks. I look up to find her brown eyes studying me intently, the compassion evident in their depths. She probably the only one who could ever truly understand how difficult this all is. After all, she's the one who was in Russia with me not once, but twice. She was there with me on the banks of the Taiga when I wept for my father. She was there right after I found Sergei, the first of my friends to find out about him.

"I don't want to hurt her," I say quietly. "When I said that I wanted to talk about my trip to Russia, she started going on about our previous trip and how it had brought closure for her and how she had finally been able to lay my father to rest in her mind. I couldn't open up those wounds again."

She unfolds her arms and puts her hand on my arm, trying to offer what comfort she can. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "I wish this could be easier for you. I know how much you love your mother and how much you're growing to love your brother. But let me ask you something? When you asked Sergei to come live with you here, what if he had accepted? Would you have told your mother then? If he was living with you, there'd always be the possibility that she would stop by or call and he would be there."

She knows me so well. I've asked myself those same questions. Honestly, as much as I want to get to know my brother better, there is a part of me that is glad he didn't take me up on my offer. This way is just easier right now. Not by much, but it is easier. "I don't know," I answer truthfully, looking down at the ground again.

"Harm, I. . . ." she starts, stopping suddenly. I look up again and find her looking up at the sky just as I feel the first drops hit my face. Damn. When we left, I didn't even look at the sky to determine if there was a chance of rain. We don't have an umbrella with us.

I grin at her and say, "I guess we really have to head back now. Maybe it won't rain too hard and we can get back to my place without getting too wet."

Famous last words. As soon as they leave my mouth, the sky opens up, drenching us in a matter of a few minutes as we start walking quickly in the direction of my building. Then we see a bright flash, followed quickly by the loud rumble of thunder. Oh, great. This evening just keeps getting better. Damn it, it's November and there's a chill in the air. Since when do we get thunderstorms this time of year?

We look at each other for a brief second then break out in a run. Unfortunately, we only make it a few blocks before we have to stop for a traffic light. Too bad we can take advantage of DC's mass transit system, but there is no subway station or bus stop near my building. We'd have to get out and walk and we would still get soaked. Since we are already pretty much soaked, we wouldn't really see any benefit from riding the bus or subway.

I glance over at Mac as we wait for the light and to my surprise, she looks happy. My surprise must be evident in my expression, because she says, "Even you've got to see the humor in this situation – getting stuck out in the rain, having to walk home. Didn't you ever go outside and play in the rain as a kid?"

"It doesn't rain much in Southern California," I remind her. The light finally changes and we dart across the street and continue our run. I'm freezing now and I can't even feel my feet in my soaked shoes and socks any more. God, am I looking forward to stripping all this off and stepping into a hot shower when I get home.

Oh, shit. That just reminds me that I have a companion getting just as soaked as I am. Being the gentleman that I am, there is no question about letting her use the shower first. But the idea of Mac stripping her soaked clothes and getting into the shower causes thoughts to form in my head that I shouldn't be thinking. Well, at least right now I don't have to worry about taking a cold shower to cool myself off. Mother Nature is taking care of that for me just fine.

We come to another traffic light and we grab onto the traffic light pole as we stop, both of us out of breath. I see her shivering in the cold rain and I don't even hesitate before taking her into my arms, trying to share some of my body heat with her, even though I'm just as cold and wet as she is. She settles into my embrace as another flash of lightning streaks across the sky. I hold her tightly in my arms as we wait for the light to change and she brings her hands up in front of her face, blowing on them and rubbing them together in a vain attempt to warm them.

When the light changes, I release her with reluctance and we are on our way again. This time, the fates are with us and we make my building without having to stop for any more lights. Bypassing the elevator – which is still waiting to be fixed – we race up the stairs, leaving puddles of water in our wake. We finally reach my floor and while I fight to get my hand into the pocket of my jeans to withdraw my keys, she wraps her arms around herself, practically jumping up and down in an effort to warm up. I manage to pull my keys out and after fumbling for a moment trying to get the key into the lock, I manage with shaking hands to unlock to door.

Opening the door, I pull her inside and drag her towards my bedroom without even stopping to flip on the light. Stopping by the bathroom, I order, "Get undressed and into the shower. I'll get some sweats for you to wear."

Leaving her there, I return to the door, fighting to pull the key out of the lock. My fingers are so cold they don't want to work. I get the key out finally and push the door closed, locking it from this side. I return to the bedroom to get some clothes for Mac to wear and am surprised to find her still standing by the bathroom, her fingers fumbling with the button on the waistband of her jeans.

Quickly, I get a towel from the bathroom and grab her hands, rubbing them briskly with the towel to dry them and to get the circulation going again. She's shivering, but this time I resist the urge to take her into my arms. It is just a few steps, both figuratively and literally, to the bed and we can't do that. I just have to keep telling myself that.

I stop what I'm doing and look at her hands. They're dry, at least. As for warm, I can't really tell since my own hands feel like they're damn near frozen stiff. I hand her the towel and am about to leave to give her privacy when she stops me. She returns the favor I just did her, wrapping my hands in the towel and rubbing. I gasp as I feel the sharp, needle-like sensation that tells me the blood is starting to flow again.

Her hands still, but instead of letting go, she holds onto my hands still wrapped in the towel. A heavy silence hangs between us as we both look down at our hands, neither of us apparently willing to be the first to break the contact. I have to force myself to breathe as this moment stretches between us. It would be so easy. . . .

A flash of lightning illuminates the dark room and reflexively I look up. She looks up at the same moment and our gazes lock. It seems like an eternity, the two of just standing here staring at each other. Even as I remind myself that this can't happen, I am pulling her roughly against me, my mouth descending on hers hungrily as I toss the towel aside. Her lips part as her fingers thread through my hair, holding my head in place as my tongue slips into her warm mouth, probing and seeking.

She responds eagerly, her tongue dueling with mine as she backs up until she is pressed between me and wall. Even cold and wet, she feels so good. My mouth leaves her and I press kisses along her jaw and down her throat as she leans her head back as far as she can. My groan seems to echo through the whole apartment as she rocks against me. I want so much to bury myself in her, to finally taste and feel what I've only experienced in my dreams.

I tear my mouth away from her and rest my forehead against the wall, my eyes closed. I want this so much, but it can't be just a one night stand and then we go back to others as if nothing happened. I wouldn't do that to anyone, let alone Mac. And if we go much farther, I won't be able to stop.

"Mac," I say hoarsely, panting for breath. "If we're. . . . going to stop. . . .have to now."

"Don't stop," she pleads softly, without hesitation, her breath hot and arousing against my ear. "Please don't stop."

That's all I need to hear as I drag her the last few steps into the bathroom. As quickly as possible, given the condition of our clothes, we manage to strip them all off, tossing them in a pile a few feet away. I'm about to pull her into my arms again, but she stops me with a look. Then she does something that, despite what we are about to do, still manages to shock me. She yanks that damn ring off her right hand and tosses it on top of the pile. "I can't go back to him," she explains quietly as I pull her back into my arms, resisting the urge to pick her up and spin her around, "not after this."

"Nor I to Renee," I assure her. I want her to understand what this means to me. As my lips find hers again, I blindly reach for the knob, turning the shower on full force. The hot water stings as it hits my chilled skin, but I barely notice. I'm already warming up inside and it has nothing to do with the hot water cascading over us.

I pull away from her and step back. After imagining for so long, I need to see her. I don't know if it's really possible, but the reality of what is before me is so much better than the fantasies that I've lived with for the last four years. She is more perfect than I've imagined in my dreams and I tell her so. To my surprise, she blushes at the compliment. I can't be the first man to ever tell her how beautiful she is. But something tells me that none of those others made her blush and I feel a surge of pure male pride.

"You're beautiful, too," she tells me, her voice a husky whisper as her own gaze travels slowly over my body, "so much more than I imagined." Even more surprisingly, I find myself blushing at her words. Maybe it's the knowledge that she's apparently fantasized about me as much as I have about her. Or maybe it's the fact that, as much as we've dreamed about this moment, building each other up in our minds, we are finding reality so much better than the best fantasies. Or maybe it's just that nothing's ever meant more to me than this thing that we are about to do.

-----

Trying to catch my breath and my legs no longer able to support me, I fall to my knees, Mac still wrapped around me. I sigh sadly as she pulls away from me and weakly, I reach up and shut the shower off. I lean back against the wall of the shower, my eyes closed as I try to bring my breathing under control. After a moment, I feel her next to me and I open my eyes to find her leaning her head back against the wall, too.

As the air cools around us, I realize that we should get up and dry ourselves off. After that, I don't know. The need to get some work done on our case is warring with my desire to carry her to my bed and to spend the rest of the night wrapped up in each other, exploring all that we've only imagined over the years.

I turn my head to find her studying me intently, her eyes alight with humor and satisfaction. I lean towards her and brush my lips against hers, a soft warm kiss that holds the promise of things to come. As I pull back, I smile as I tell her quietly, "I love you, Sarah Mackenzie."

We are still wet from the rain and our shower, so I'm not entirely sure, but I think there are tears in her eyes as she replies, "I love you, too, Harmon Rabb."

-----

I am momentarily disoriented when I wake up in an unfamiliar bed, but then the events of the evening come flooding back with crystal clarity. I turn my head and study the man lying next to me. He's one of the most intense people I know, but he looks so peaceful in sleep, like a little boy. Is he always like this or is it just because he has finally 'let go'?

Quietly, I slip out of bed and begin opening drawers in Harm's closet, searching for something to wear. My clothes, along with his, are still lying in a wet heap in the bathroom. Finally, I find a USNA sweatshirt that I find falls to mid-thigh when I put it on. Glancing back at Harm, who is still lost in the land of dreams, I silently leave the bedroom and head for the kitchen.

I search his refridgerator for something edible, smiling as I remember that this is Mr. Health Nut. I'm not going to find Beltway Burgers in his kitchen. I finally settle on some leftover pasta salad and sit on one of the bar stools to eat and to think about what Harm and I have unleashed tonight.

Unfortunately, his letting go has opened up a rather nasty can of worms. Not as far as my feelings are concerned. I have never been in doubt about my feelings about Harm. To be completely honest, my accepting Mic's ring had less to do with any feelings I may have for Mic and more to do with Harm's rejection of me on the ferry. I hate myself for leading Mic on for all these months, for letting him believe there was the possibility of a future for us. I even hate myself to a degree for falling in Harm's embrace before finalizing things with Mic. As much as I've unintentionally hurt Mic all these months by keeping him in limbo and as much as I am about to hurt him by finally ending it, I should have owed him the courtesy of finishing things with him before falling into another man's arms and bed.

But as much as I know that it was wrong for Harm and I to fall into bed with each other while things were unresolved with our significant others, I also know that, from my end at least, I could not deny what I have wanted for four long years. As we stood in his bedroom, cold and wet from the rain, a torrent of feelings was unleashed between us and I couldn't not act on them.

I feel the burden of that lies entirely on me. He did offer me an out. If I had just said the word, he would have backed away from me no matter how much he wanted me. But I was the one who asked – begged is probably more like it – him not to stop. And, being completely honest, if I had it to do all over again, I would do the exact same thing. There are just some things – some feelings – that are too powerful to ignore or contain.

I also have to admit that as much as I regret the way things stand with Mic, the situation with Renee, even the four years lost between Harm and myself, I could never regret finally finding the satisfaction I've always craved with Harm. I could never regret being in love with Harm. I just wish all of this could be easier.

I am so wrapped up in my thoughts and self-recriminations that I don't hear Harm approach until I feel his hand on my shoulder. I jump slightly, startled, then relax when I realize that it is just Harm. Wordlessly, I gesture to the stool beside me and he sits down and looks at me intently.

I look down at the counter top, not quite ready to meet his eyes. I can feel his concern, but I don't think he can help me with this one. No one can. I've created this mess with my life and I've got to be the one to clean it up.

Another long moment of silence passes before Harm finally says a single word hesitantly. "Mac?"

"Hmmm?" I murmur. I still can't bring myself to look up at him.

"Do you regret what happened tonight?" he asks. I can hear the hesitancy and even a little hurt in his voice and I find yet another reason to hate myself. The last thing I want to do is hurt him

"No," I quickly reassure him. "That's the one thing about this entire situation that I don't regret."

"But there are things that you do regret about this situation?" he adds. The hurt is gone from his voice, but the hesitancy is still there. I don't want to talk about it any more than he does but it does have to be dealt with. And I should be honest with him if I want us to have a real chance at making it.

I push the bowl of pasta salad away and look down at my now bare right hand. "I never should have accepted Mic's ring," I say. Oh, great. That's really brilliant. He already knows that. He's thought that since I first showed up at the airport wearing the ring, even though he's never said it aloud. He never would say it. He loved me enough to step back and let me be with Mic if that was what I really wanted.

I finally look over at him and find him looking at me impassively, merely waiting for me to continue. That's so Harm. He would never judge me, even when he knows that I'm making the biggest mistake of my life. Sighing, I continue, "My accepting Mic's ring was a knee-jerk reaction. You had rejected me and that hurt me, so when Mic offered me everything that I had wanted from you, I thought 'What the hell? What do I have to lose?' I just didn't realize at the time that I was going to lose myself in the process."

"For what it's worth," Harm says quietly, "I never meant to reject or hurt you. I only meant. . . ." He trails off and looks at me uncertainly. "I guess it doesn't matter what I meant. I'm just sorry that you were hurt by what I said."

I pause, uncertain about whether I should pursue that or not. Do I really want to deal with the pain of that night again? Then again, maybe we have to revisit that night and clear the air about it before we can move forward.

"What did you mean?" I ask. "That night on the ferry, I mean."

Harm looks away from me and is quiet for a long moment. As I watch him search for the right words, for the first time it occurs to me that what happened on the ferry hurt him as much as it hurt me. To bad neither of us had the courage to have this conversation nine months ago.

"Everything was very tense when I returned from the Patrick Henry," he finally says, studying the countertop as I was just minutes ago. "I didn't seem to fit in at JAG the way I had before, Brumby had taken my place. . . .in everything, and even my relationship with my best friend suffered."

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I should have been more welcoming when you returned. I. . . ."

"Mac, it's not your fault," he interrupts. I hold up my hand to stop him before he can say more.

"Please, I want us to be completely honest here," I say. "No matter how much it hurts. Will you let me finish, please?"

He nods towards me and I continue, "I guess – no, I was hurt when you left. I took that out on you, however unintentionally, when you returned and I'm sorry for that. Seems kind of funny, doesn't it, that we got along for the most part when I was on the Patrick Henry for Buxton's court-martial, but it all fell apart between us when you came back to JAG. I could have treated you a lot better. I saw that you were feeling out of place and instead of being there for you as a friend, I only made things worse."

"I never blamed you for it," Harm says, taking my hand in his and rubbing my now bare ring finger with his thumb. "I blamed myself. I never should have left. I knew deep down that I was past my prime as an aviator, but my ego wouldn't let me accept that. If I had stayed, I never would have felt out of place, Brumby wouldn't have taken my place at JAG and – and in your life, and I would have still had my best friend."

"And you would have gotten promoted earlier, too," I point out. My promotion was such a source of discomfort between us and then when his promotion did come, it was hardly under the best of circumstances.

"Mac, believe me, I was happy for you when you got promoted," he says emphatically, sensing the direction of my thoughts. "The thing that upset me was that you didn't feel the need to share it with me. I had thought we were best friends and I thought that best friends shared things with each other. When you didn't share that important news with me, it did hurt me."

This is just great. Instead of 'he said, she said', we've got 'I thought, you thought'. In a way, it's hard to believe that as long as we've been friends that we could read each other so wrong for so long. "Harm, the reason I didn't tell you immediately about my promotion," I explain, "is that I didn't want to hurt you with the fact that I had gotten promoted and you were stuck as a Lieutenant Commander. I thought you were happy flying and I didn't want you to start thinking about what might have been if you'd stayed."

"We're really something, aren't we?" he muses. "You didn't tell me about your promotion because you didn't want to hurt me, yet I felt hurt because you didn't tell me about your promotion."

"Yeah, we are," I agree with a bitter laugh. "I guess that's how we ended up where we are right now, in this situation."

"That's part of it, I guess," he says. "But aside from everything that was going on and that I was feeling when I returned, there was also that op-ed piece that nearly derailed my promotion and ended my career, and. . . ." he trails off and jumps off his stool, dropping my hand, walking around the counter to the refridgerator. "Do you want something to drink?"

"I'll just have some water," I reply. What was he about to say? Something else is bothering him, something that he is very reluctant to talk about, and for the life of me, I can't figure out what it could be. He hands me a glass across the counter, an identical one in his own hand.

I reach across the counter and take his free hand in mine, trying to offer him what comfort I can. "Harm, whatever it is, you can tell me," I tell him. "I want you to know that. I don't want us to fall apart again because we can't talk to each other."

Harm takes a deep breath before he continues, "I know. I don't want that either. It's just. . . .it's about my father."

His father? He found out something about his father? I guess it's just another sign of how far apart we had drifted that this is the first I'm hearing about this. "What about your father?" I ask gently.

It's another moment before he finally replies, "Last Christmas Eve, when I went to the Wall, I met a woman who told me that she had met my father on the Ticonderoga the day before he was shot down."

"How did he meet a woman on a combat ship?" I ask, confused. Woman have only been allowed on Navy ships since 1994. Suddenly, it occurs to me. "USO?"

"Yes," he replies. "She was part of Bob Hope's troop, which did a show on the ship on Christmas Day. From what she told me, her fiancée had been a Marine aviator who had been killed in action the previous week. She was very upset and my father comforted her."

"Comforted her?" I echo, trying to process all this in my mind. "Did they have an affair?"

"Honestly, I don't know," he says quietly. I can see by the look in his eyes, from his posture, how much this is hurting him. "She did say they kissed, but I just have this feeling that she left things out of her story. There were some timeline gaps in what she told me."

"So it bothered you, this idea that your father might have cheated on your mother the night before he was shot down," I conclude.

There's another long pause and I briefly wonder if I should just drop the subject. But we need to hash all of this out, no matter how painful. If there's nothing else that I have learned this past year, it's how dangerous lack of communication can be. Finally, he replies, "Yes. At the time, he had no idea that he would never return home. By contrast, when Sergei was born, he'd been held prisoner for eleven years and probably had given up hope by that time of ever returning home."

"So all this was going through your mind in Australia?" I ask, bringing the conversation back around to where it began.

"I was. . . ." he begins, looking up at the ceiling as he gathers his thoughts. He finally looks back at me and I can see the pain so clearly in his eyes. I squeeze his hand comfortingly. He gives me a small smile and continues, "I wasn't sure who or what to believe in anymore. I was so messed up and then you opened up to me on the ferry and I felt I had no choice but to shut down. I didn't want to hurt you."

"I don't understand," I say, keeping my voice neutral. That last statement doesn't make any sense to me, but I don't to risk saying anything that might hurt him. We've come a long way today and I don't want to jeopardize that by ill-thought comments.

"Mac, if I had let myself get involved in a relationship with you at that time," he says, staring at me intently, "it would have self destructed. I was in no shape emotionally to get involved in a deep, committed relationship, which is what I wanted with you."

"I can see your point," I admit. "If our positions had been reversed, I probably would have felt the same way, especially given my track record with relationships. But I do wish you would have told me all this. Harm, I would have understood."

"We weren't exactly communicating very well, as you'll recall," he points out and I have to admit to myself that he does have a very good point. Nothing had happened in the previous four months since he had returned to JAG to make him think that he could still talk to me like we used to. "And, well, I thought. . . ." he trails off again, looking away from me.

"What is it?" I ask gently. "Please tell me."

"I don't want to hurt you," he says. I reach up and place my hand on his cheek, turning him back to face me.

"Harm, just tell me what it is," I insist. "I promise I won't get mad or upset."

"I was confused," he finally tells me, "by your actions on the ferry. It seemed to come out of the blue and I wasn't entirely sure what you wanted or where you wanted us to go."

"You thought that I might have been suggesting a casual relationship," I say, again careful to keep my voice neutral. It does hurt me that he would think that – I thought he knew me better than that – but I can also see, given everything else, why he would think that. God, how did we get to this place? "Just a fling and nothing more?"

"Mac. . . .Sarah, I'm sorry. . . ."

I place my fingers over his lips, silencing him. I shake my head as I tell him, "Harm, I promised that I wouldn't get mad or upset and I'm not. I can see why you might think that and it does hurt me, but not because you thought it. It hurts me that things had gotten so bad between us – and that's my fault as much as yours – that you could even think that about me."

"When you said that I couldn't let go and I said 'Not yet'," he explains, "I wanted you to give me some time. I wanted you to be patient and wait for me to work through my problems so that I could devote myself to building a lasting relationship with you. When I said that I was only that way with you, I meant it. I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you, Sarah."

Tears well up in my eyes as I realize that Harm has called me Sarah for the second time in under a minute. Why couldn't we have had this conversation nine months ago? If only. . . .

"When you showed up at the airport," he continues as he brushes a stray tear from my cheek, "wearing Brumby's ring, I thought that was your answer. And I thought that you couldn't have been serious about a relationship with me or else why would you turn around and accept another man's ring?"

"And now here we are," I muse sadly. "We're finally on the same page as far as our feelings for each other, but we still have Renee and Mic to deal with." And I'm looking forward to that as much as I would having my teeth pulled.

"I know," he says, just as sadly. "Although, to be honest, I've been having problems with Renee recently."

Sounds like his love life had been going just as great as mine had been. We sure know how to pick them. Maybe that's what makes us so perfect for each other. "What kind of problems?" I ask.

"She's been dropping a lot of hints," he explains, picking up our now empty glasses and rinsing them in the sink. "When Mom was here recently, she and Renee were here talking like old friends when I got home. Renee pointed out this new ring Frank had gotten Mom and suggested that I ask where he got it."

"She's pressuring you about marriage?" I ask, amazed. Renee has never struck me as military wife material. God, would she be in for a surprise if Harm were actually that serious about her.

"In a roundabout way," he admits. "She's also been objecting a lot to my being called away on cases all the time."

"But that's your job," I point out strongly. His statement has just proved my point. "Doesn't she understand that?"

"This is the same woman who was upset because I missed three of our first four dates because of cases," he reminds me. "She was upset when I went to Russia, she was upset when I went to Cuba. And she's expecting me to marry her. She has no understanding of what it means to be a military wife."

I can't help it. A laugh escapes me and I cover my mouth trying to hold it in. Harm gives me a puzzled look and I struggle to bring myself under control. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I explain, "I was just thinking that Renee has never struck me as military wife material."

"I have the feeling that her next step would be to try and talk me into resigning from the Navy," he continues. I could see her trying to do that. I can't imagine Renee ever being happy with Harm traveling all the time.

"At the risk of sounding like I'm criticizing," I say, "how did you get involved with this woman?"

"Well, our first date, if you want to call it that, was supposed to be kind of a celebration dinner that the commercial was finished," he explains. I remember that night. That was the night Mic and I ran into him. I wonder. I had asked Harm to grab some dinner with me that day and he had declined, which is why I had agreed when Mic had asked me out. But what if Harm had already agreed to this celebration dinner with Renee before I had asked him? He wouldn't have been in a position to say yes and yet again, I turned to Mic as a knee jerk reaction to what I saw as rejection by Harm.

"That was the night Mic and I saw you," I conclude. When he nods, I decide to go for broke and clear something up. "Harm, when I had asked you to dinner that day, had you already accepted Renee's invitation and that was why you turned me down?"

"Yes," he replies. He thinks for a moment, then adds, "That's why you went out with Mic that night, wasn't it? I had turned you down, so you turned to him."

"Right after you turned me down," I explain, feeling bad yet again at the mess that is my life, "Mic walked up and asked me to dinner and I jumped at the invitation."

Harm sighs, but doesn't say anything about my bad habit of turning to Mic when I'm conflicted about Harm. He returns to the subject of his relationship with Renee. "Our second date," he continues, "I missed because I was on the Suribachi. At that time, our relationship was completely casual, at least on my part. At the risk of sounding like a, well, male, I was just looking for companionship."

Meaning he was just in it for the sex. Typical male. But we're not here, having this conversation, so that we can blame or condemn each other. We're trying to work through all our issues. Or at least put them on the table. I don't think we can resolve everything between us in one night. Not with Mic and Renee still hanging over our heads.

"It only became more serious, well, after Australia," he adds. "When you showed up wearing Mic's ring, I thought that was it. I was determined to be happy for you if that was what you wanted and to try and move on with my own life."

"That's really something," I point out. "I thought you rejected me and that pushed me into Mic's arms and when you thought I rejected you, it pushed you to Renee."

"What about you and Mic?" he asks, the reluctance obvious in his voice. I know he doesn't want to hear about my relationship with Mic, any more than I really wanted to hear about his relationship with Renee. But it does need to be discussed.

I look down at the countertop again, pondering my answer. If there's nothing else I've learned since Mic moved back to Washington, it's what an idiot I have been getting involved with him for all the wrong reasons. Even if Harm and I hadn't finally connected tonight, it would have ended with Mic, probably sooner rather than later. Being in such close quarters, trying to force a relationship to work, only emphasized that.

"When he moved to Washington," I explain sadly, "I tried so hard to make it work, even though I knew deep down that my heart wasn't really in it. But the more I tried to make it work, the more it seemed to fall apart."

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that," he says. "I'm sorry that I drove you to it."

"I was the one who made the ill-advised choice to accept his ring because I couldn't have what I really wanted," I remind him, my voice full of self-recrimination. "I blame myself much more than I blame you for this situation we find ourselves in. Anyway, I could have walked away at any time after we've had problems, but I kept crawling back to him, apologizing for things that I probably had no reason to apologize for."

"Like what?" he asks.

"When you were in Cuba," I relate, "there was this party given in Mic's honor by his new firm. He insisted that I had to go to this party with him because it was important to him. I let that one slide, figuring that if I was considering marrying the man, I could take his wants and needs into consideration." I paused, remembering the humiliation and anger I felt at the party.

"Did he hurt you?" Harm presses, a hint of anger in his voice. I know that if Mic really did hurt me, Harm would be the first in line to rake him over the coals for it.

"The people at this party, they reminded me a lot of the kind of people at Dalton's firm," I explain. "Then Mic's boss pulls him aside and they just leave me standing there, not knowing a person, and I could hear them talking about me like I'm some kind of trophy on display. And some of the other people, mostly men, were staring as well. I felt so uncomfortable and Mic didn't seem to even care, so I called him on it as we were leaving."

"And he didn't take it well," Harm guesses and I nod. I notice his hands clench into fists and I cover them with mine, hoping to calm him down.

"He basically accused me of being childish and irrational because I was letting my past with Dalton color my perceptions," I continue, "and then he pretty much told me to shut up and to get into the car."

"Not to criticize, but the Mac I know would have told him in no uncertain terms where to go," Harm points out. "Your past with Dalton is a part of you and you can't just ignore that."

"Yeah, but the Mac you know was MIA," I say sadly. "I did what he wanted and then later I went to his apartment and apologized for being childish. And then when he told me, instead of apologizing for his own behavior, that he agreed that I had been acting childish, I just accepted it. But how can I be involved in a relationship with a man who appears to have no consideration for my feelings?"

Harm doesn't say anything, but I can sense his anger at Mic. Harm has always been very protective of me and even if we weren't now intimately involved, I know he would still be angry for me. I continue, "Then, when I was trying that case on TV, there was an article in People magazine about me."

"I know," he says quietly. "I saw it. It scared me that I had to read in a magazine that you had moved the ring over. The next time I saw you, I was so relived when I saw that it wasn't true."

"He told them that I was his fiancée when I'm not," I exclaim, my voice rising in anger. "I called, but he wasn't home, and I left a very angry message on his answering machine to the effect that at the rate things were going, I wasn't going to be his fiancée ever. When I finally saw him, he didn't understand what I was so angry about. All he talked about was how we were practically living together and how I was wearing his ring, so that made us engaged. How could I have been so stupid?"

By the time I finish my tirade, I'm shaking in anger and Harm quickly comes back around the counter, taking me into his arms. He runs his hands up and down my back in a soothing manner, whispering words of comfort as I struggle to control my anger. It keeps playing over in my mind how stupid I've been, getting involved with a man I don't love and letting him begin to control my life. This is the same man who tried to pin a murder charge on me and I came this close to agreeing to marry him.

I pull away slightly, remaining wrapped in his arms, and look up at him. "Can we continue this later?" I ask hopefully, a tremor still evident in my voice. "I just can't talk about this right now."

"I understand," he says softly, kissing my forehead. "It's getting late anyway. Do you, um, do you want to stay here tonight?"

I nod, biting my lower lip. I'm so upset right now that I don't want to be alone. "Will you hold me?" I plead, tears threatening to fall. "I just need to be held right now."

"Anytime, Sarah," I whispers as he pulls me tight against him, kissing the top of my head.

I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling so safe and loved in his arms.

-----

THE NEXT MORNING

As I move around the kitchen, making breakfast for Mac and myself while she still sleeps, I ponder some of the things we talked about last night. It was a really big step for us, opening up like that last night. I just hope that it was worth it. I hope that, with all my obsessions and fears, I am not just another bad choice that Sarah Mackenzie has made in men.

I'm not the easiest person in the world to get to know or to be with. I know that. All the women I've been involved with have known that. But this time it means so much more. I am afraid that, even as long as she has known me and understands me, that my obsessions and fears might be too much for even Sarah Mackenzie to deal with on a daily basis. I don't want to end up being just as bad for her as Chris Ragle and Dalton Lowne were or as bad as Mic Brumby appears to be. I want this to work out more than I've wanted just about anything else in my entire life.

I turn as I hear a noise and see Mac coming towards me, wearing the same sweatshirt she had put on last night. I open my arms up to her and she walks right into them, wrapping her arms tight around me. It's almost as if she's clinging to me.

I cup her chin and tilt her head upward so that I can see her eyes and I can see the pain so clearly etched in their depths. "Mac?" I ask tentatively, hoping that she will open up to me as we did with each other last night.

"It's nothing, really," she tries to assure me, but I'm not buying it.

"Please, tell me," I beg her. "I want to help."

"You can't," she replies sadly, lowering her eyes. "Not with this. Mic's due back later this morning and I need to go see him."

"To tell him that it's over?" I ask, a note of hope in my voice. I know we talked about this and she even took off that damn ring, but I have this strange need to hear her say the words.

"Yes," she says, no trace of doubt evident in her voice. "I want to be with you so much, but I want our relationship to start off without these dark clouds hanging over our heads. And as much as I've led him on and am going to hurt him, I owe it to Mic to break it off now before you and I go any further. I want to get on with my life, with our life, and he needs to have the opportunity to get on with his as well."

"I know what you mean," I reply sadly. "You want to hear something funny? Right now, I'm wishing that Renee would get back from California. Odd, isn't it? I want her to get back just so I can break up with her."

"No, it isn't odd," she tells me. "It's. . . .I don't know. Maybe it's just that we have this need for finality while wanting to not hurt Mic and Renee any more than necessary. I mean, I know this is going to hurt them, but we do need to do it in person and not over the phone. I know I'm rambling, but am I making any sense?"

"You're making perfect sense," I say, laughing a little at her ramblings. I guess I'm not the only one who's nervous about all of this. I'm not sure if I should be comforted or worried that she is as nervous as I am.

"So when is Renee due back?" she asks as she pulls out of my arms and moves over to the counter to fix herself a plate of the blueberry pancakes I finished making just before she woke up.

"I'm not sure," I respond, moving behind her and putting my hand on her shoulder. She turned her head to look at me but doesn't say a word. That worries me a little, but with everything that is weighing down on us, I think I understand. "When I talked to her a few days ago, she said there were problems with her shoot and she would be delayed but she wasn't sure how long. Almost makes me wish that I could break up with her over the phone, just to get this over with."

"But that's not you," she points out, finally turning completely around to face me, placing her hands on my cheeks. "That's not the Harmon Rabb I fell in love with."

"Yeah, but that same Harmon Rabb is the one who is being unfaithful to the woman he's been seeing for ten months," I point out bitterly, instantly wishing that I could take back those words once I see the hurt look that settles in her eyes.

"Maybe I should ask you the same thing you asked me last night," she says, her voice trembling and eerily quiet. I can tell that she's fighting back tears. "Do you regret what happened last night?"

I pull her into my arms, holding her tight against me as my own tears threaten to fall. God, how did we get ourselves into this situation? And I don't mean what happened last night. Like her, I could never regret that. It's everything else about this situation that I regret.

"God, Sarah, no," I whisper against her hair, holding her as if I'm afraid to let her go. "No, no, no, no." I keep whispering as I press kisses against the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice breaking. "I had to. . . ."

"You had to ask," I finish her sentence quietly. "I know." I walk her over to the couch, breakfast the last thing on my mind. I sit down and pull her down into my lap, wrapping my arms around her. She leans against me, burying her head against my neck.

After a few quiet moments of just holding each other, Mac pulls back slightly and looks up at me, this incredible look of love in her eyes. I wonder how I got so lucky, with all my mistakes, that this incredible woman loves me. "I love you, you know that, don't you?" she says, smiling at me.

I nod, unable to speak for a moment. Those three words are exactly what I need to hear right now, a reminder that we have something worth fighting for and something that is worth all the pain that we are going through. "I love you, too," I finally reply, taking one of her hands in mine, entwining our fingers.

"Then we can get through this," Mac declares confidently, lifting up our connected hands to kiss the back of mine. "Together, you and I do make a pretty good team."

"Yeah, I guess we do," I reply, managing a small smile for her. I pause for a moment, considering what I am about to ask. I want to know, yet I don't want to know. Finally, I decide to just forge ahead. "What time is Mic due back?"

"His flight lands at eleven," she replies, looking down at our joined hands. "I thought I would go over to his apartment about an hour later to see him."

"You don't have to pick him up at the airport?" I ask. I really don't want her to spend any more time in his presence than necessary, especially given what she told me last night. I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that he will not take this well at all. "Would you like me to go with you?"

"No," she says firmly, looking up at me. "No offense, but I'd rather just leave you out of this. Mic doesn't need to know that you and I are now together. All I plan to tell him is that it isn't going to work out. I definitely don't want a repeat of what happened between you two in Australia. And the answer to your first question is also no. He rode to the airport with his boss and is getting a ride home from him."

I know she is trying to protect me, but I am worried about her having to face him alone. If something happened to her. . . . I shudder involuntarily at the thought. "What if I parked a few blocks away?" I ask hopefully.

Mac shakes her head. Here it comes, the 'I'm a Marine' speech. "Harm, I can take care of myself," she points out. "I can handle Mic just fine. I'll tell him it's over, hand him back his ring and wish him well. That's the beginning and the end of it."

"Mac," I say, stopping suddenly. I consider carefully what I am about to say, not wanting to offend her Marine sensibilities. After all, this woman could probably take me down with one hand tied behind her. "Sarah, I want you to promise to carry your cell phone and call me immediately if you need anything, even if it's just a shoulder to lean on."

"I probably will take you up on that shoulder when I'm finished," she tells me softly, kissing my hand again. "I don't want to hurt him and I know this will. I know you have never liked him, but I do care for him. Just not in the way he wants me to."

"I know you do," I concede. I have never understood it. Just like I never understood what she saw in Dalton Lowne. Chris Ragle I kind of understood given the time in her life when that relationship happened. But I'm not going to tell her all that, given how much she is agonizing over how she is about to hurt Mic. She has learned from all those past relationships and that is part of what makes her the person she is today. It's the very thing that Mic Brumby appears to have condemned her for.

We sit here for a few more moments, taking comfort in each others' touch. Eventually, Mac pulls out of my arms and stands, looking down at me. "Aren't you going to feed me?" she asks, her hand on her hips.

In spite of my still somewhat dark mood, I can't help but laugh. There are some things that are absolutes and Mac being hungry is one of them. In an odd way, it gives me hope that everything will be just fine. Managing one of my few genuine smiles this morning, I hold my hands out and she pulls me up from the couch.

Mac pushes me towards the table while she heads for the kitchen. "You made breakfast," she says, "so the least I can do is serve. Sit down."

Instead of sitting at the table, I stand at the bar, watching her as she moves around the kitchen preparing two plates of pancakes for us. She definitely makes a sweatshirt look sexy, although I know it's probably more the idea of what she isn't wearing under it that is holding my attention.

She reaches up to the top shelf in a cabinet for something and I am treated to the sight of the sweatshirt riding up until it is just barely covering her lovely rear. The direction of my thoughts must be obvious on my face because when she turns around, she gives me a knowing smile. "Enjoying the show?" she teases.

I just shrug, not trusting myself to speak right now. If I did, I might tell her to forget about breakfast. While that prospect might be very enjoyable short term, long term I would have an even hungrier Marine to deal with. Smiling at the thought, I leave my place at the bar and sit down at the table, trying not to think about the scantily-clad woman behind me in the kitchen.

After a few minutes, Mac brings two plates piled high with pancakes out and sets them on the table. Instead of sitting down however, she heads for the bedroom. I hear what sounds like drawers opening and she returns after a moment still wearing my Academy sweatshirt but now with a pair of shorts on also, tied at the waist to hold them up on her slim frame.

"Show's over, Flyboy," she teases as she sits down across from me, digging into her plate of pancakes. Maybe, but I have to smile as her eyes glance up every so often, her eyes fixed on my bare chest.

"If the show's over, maybe I should go put on a shirt," I suggest teasingly while she laughs at the thought.

"I've missed that, you know," she muses, pushing a piece of pancake around on her plate with her fork.

"What?" I ask, although I think I know what she is talking about.

"Being able to tease each other like that," she replies. "Remember the first time I threw you a red light?"

I smile at the memory. The funny thing is that we had been arguing over a case, the first one we had opposed each other on. Such a contrast to the last year when it seems like all we did was argue or, even worse, we ignored each other, without the usual teasing to remind ourselves that we were still friends.

"I definitely remember," I say with a grin. "Let's see – I said you could plea bargain the case, you said 'In your dreams' and I replied that you wouldn't want to be in my dreams. Then I threw you a red light in return for reading something sexual into what I had said."

"We were fighting," she points out with a trace of sadness in her voice, looking up from her plate at me, "but we were still able to tease each other and in the end, we had dinner together and put it all behind us. I just. . . ."

"Wish we had been able to do that this past year," I interrupt. When she nods, a sad smile on her face, I reach across the table and take her hand in mind. "I wish we could go back and do so much differently, but we can't. What we can do is try to move forward and not let it happen again."

Her smile grows a little brighter as she replies, "If nothing else, everything that has happened over the last year should have taught us how precious all this is. I almost lost the most precious person to me and I don't ever want to go through that again."

"I don't either," I agree emphatically. "I want to know that whenever we have a fight - and we both know that we will still have those occasionally – that I can still count on my best friend, the woman I love, still being there when all is said and done."

"Agreed," Mac says, smiling as she covers our joined hands with her free hand. I place my other hand on top of hers and she smiles at the gesture. We sit here for a few moments, just smiling at each other and enjoying the calm. Finally, Mac nods towards my plate. "Are you finished or did you want some more?" she asks.

"No, I'm finished," I reply.

"Good," she says, pulling her hands away from mine and picking up both our plates. As she carries them into the kitchen, she tosses over her shoulder, "Why don't you turn on the radio?"

"Do you have a specific kind of music in mind?" I ask as I turn the stereo on.

I look over my shoulder at her and she looks like she's pondering the question. She puts our dishes in the dishwasher then joins me by the stereo, fiddling with the dial, pausing every few seconds to listen to another station. Finally, she stops as the sound of the Beatles comes out of the speakers. "How's this?"

"Fine," I reply, "but for what?"

"For dancing," she tells me with a grin as she holds out her hand to me. "I think we need to relax a little."

"Agreed," I say, "but do you mind if I change first?"

She looks me up and down, her eyes focusing for a seemingly long period of time at the boxers that I'm wearing. I lift an eyebrow at her, remembering her earlier comment about my enjoying the show before she put on the shorts that she is wearing. She giggles a little at my expression, then answers with a pout, "I suppose if you must."

Giving her a quick kiss, I retreat to the bedroom, grabbing a sweatshirt and shorts of my own to wear. As I pull on my clothes, I watch Mac through the partition, smiling as she dances around the living room to the sounds of the Rolling Stones. I feel better already. This is definitely one of Mac's more brilliant ideas. Too bad it's still raining out or I might suggest that we take off for the weekend and go flying. That's something else that I miss doing with her, something else that I can't remember when the last time we did it was. Maybe next weekend. I think we both need a chance to get away from all this, even if only for a few days, and forget about all the outside pressures on both of us.

Smiling I head to the living room, pulling Mac into my arms as the song ends. She rests her head against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist as we wait for the commercials to end and the next song to begin. "Hmmm, this is nice," she murmurs.

"I agree," I tell her, holding her tight against me. "This is definitely a very good idea. We need to relax. Anyway, I was thinking. If the weather's better, how'd you like to go up in 'Sarah' next weekend, get away from here for a few days?"

The look on her face when she looks up at me says it all. She misses going flying as much as I do. "Just leave the psychotic poachers at home and you've got a deal," she teases.

"Yes, Ma'am," I say with a grin, giving her a mock salute. That's okay. Going flying is about getting away from everything for a few days, not finding more trouble than we already have.

She laughs at my antics and my day brightens just a little bit more. I guess that's appropriate given the next song that comes over the radio. Smiling, I sing along with 'My Girl' as we move around the room.

I look down at Mac and see a sight that I haven't seen in I don't know how long. There's a light in her eyes and a joy in her expression that. . . .I can't remember when was the last time I saw that kind of brightness on her face. I do have to admit that it thrills me that I'm the one to put that expression back on her face. I hope that look sticks around for a long time to come.

By the time the song ends, Mac is laughing loudly. "Thank you for that," she says. "I think we both needed to be cheered up."

I can't help but laugh, too. She's right. We do need this. "Maybe I should be thanking you," I point out, "for still putting up with me after everything."

"Hey, we've put up with a lot from each other over the years," she points out in return. The smile on her face takes any sting from her words. She is right. She usually is, although I rarely admit that to anyone but myself.

"Well here's to a lot more years of putting up with each other," I say softly as we begin swaying gently to the next song, Simon and Garfunkel's 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'.

-----

Eventually, reality intrudes into our happy little world and Mac has to leave to go see Mic. I know why she has to go and, in a way, I want her to go so she can get this over with and so we have one less cloud hanging over our heads. But I hate the idea of her going to face him alone, even as I know why she doesn't want me to go along. Not that I really want to go along. If I were to never see Mic again, it would be too soon. I just don't want her to have to face this alone.

"I'll be fine, Harm," she tells me for about the hundredth time in the last few minutes as she finishes pulling on her clothes from last night. I had finally thrown all our clothes in the dryer last night before we went back to bed. She sits down next to me on the bed as she finishes buttoning her blouse.

"I know," I reply, looking at her with a small smile. "I just want to be there for you."

She turns and faces me and gives me a warm smile. "You are going to be there for me," she says, her hand over her heart, "in here. And I can get through this knowing

that when it's over, I'll be coming back here to you."

"Just keep remembering that," I said quietly. I lean forward slightly and kiss her softly, a goodbye until later kiss. But she wraps her arms around my neck and deepens the kiss, pressing her body closer to mine. I'd love so much to lose myself in her right now, but it's not the right time. Reluctantly, I break off the kiss and rest my forehead against hers.

"You need to get going," I tell her, struggling to control the raging emotions inside me.

She nods and replies, "I know, but I will be back."

Without a word, I get up and go to the pegs behind the door where our jackets are hanging. Mine being leather and hers being some kind of material that's dry clean only, I couldn't just throw them in the dryer. I start to pull hers off the peg, only to realize that it's still wet. "Your jacket's still wet," I inform her as she joins me by the door.

She returns to the bedroom and comes back out with the sweatshirt she was wearing earlier. "I'll just put this on over my clothes," she says, pulling it on. "The layers should keep me plenty warm."

Alarm bells begin going off in my head. "What do you think Mic is going to say if you show up wearing a Naval Academy sweatshirt?" I point out, worried for her and for his reaction.

"I was planning to stop at home before I go over to his place anyway," she counters, "to change into some fresh clothes. I can grab a jacket there and leave the sweatshirt behind."

"Okay," I concede, only slightly less concerned. I won't feel completely better until she is back here and Mic is gone from her life.

"Harm. . . ." she begins, drawing out my name.

"I know," I interrupt, holding up my hands in surrender. "You'll be fine. Just try and hurry back."

"I will," she promises, giving me a brief kiss as I hand her an umbrella. "Maybe when I get back we can order a pizza and do some more dancing around the living room."

"I look forward to it," I say as I open the door for her. As she walks through, she turns and looks back at me with a smile.

"I will be back soon," she says before turning and walking to the stairs. I stand there with the door open, watching until the stairwell door closes behind her.

-----

Instead of taking the elevator, I walk up the one flight of stairs to my apartment, taking the extra time to do even more thinking. Not that I have to think about what I am doing. I've never been more sure about anything than I am about this. What I keep going over in my mind is how I'm going to break the news to Mic that I won't marry him. I go over about a dozen different scenarios in my mind and reject them all. How do I break it off without hurting him too much? As much as I can never love him in the same intense way that I love Harm, I still consider him a friend and do not want to hurt him.

I pat the front pocket of my jeans, feeling the outline of the ring through the denim. Maybe I'm over thinking this. Maybe the best approach is the simple one. Hand him back the ring, apologize for taking so long to come to a decision and tell him simply that I cannot be the kind of wife he deserves to have. Yeah, right. And if it were that simple, then why would I be obsessing so much about this?

Now that's a funny thought. Harm's the one with the obsessive personality. Thinking about Harm brings a smile to my face and I feel a little of the weight that I'm carrying lift from my shoulders. I just need to keep the end goal in sight. I break it off with Mic and Harm and I will be free to be together, or we will once he does the same with Renee. But the end result will be worth all the pain.

As I enter my apartment, I'm surprised that Jingo doesn't immediately trot over to greet me. That's unusual. I am about to whistle for Jingo when a voice startles me. "Hello, luv," Mic says.

Everything seems to move in slow motion as I turn towards to sofa and see Mic walking towards me, his arms open. I let him embrace me, trying not to stiffen as he holds me tight and presses his lips against mine. Mic steps back and, fortunately, he doesn't seem to notice my hesitancy. "I asked to be dropped off here," he tells me. "I wanted to surprise you."

Surprise, Mac. Why does this not surprise me? Just another sign that I am making the right decision. I look past Mic and see a man I recognize as his boss sitting on the couch, trying to ignore Jingo's request for attention. I don't remember the man's name and I'm usually so good with names. But I still have bad memories of that party and I really had no desire to remember the people I had met there. "Hello, Sarah," he says, smiling at me. For some reason, he reminds me of a used-car salesman.

"Hello," I reply, forcing what I hope is a warm smile.

"I really should be going," he says, standing and walking around Jingo. The man obviously has no appreciation for a good, faithful companion. I try to hide my distaste when he holds out his hand to me and I shake it. "It was good to see you again, Sarah. Mic, I'll see you Monday morning."

As Mic escorts him out, I set down my purse and take a few deep breaths. God, how did this happen? Instead of seeking out Mic on my own timetable and breaking this off in my own way, I'm forced into an even more uncomfortable situation by his continued insistence on surprising me.

Mic walks up behind me and puts his arms around me, but I pull away and turn around to face him, my arms crossed over my chest. "Mic, what have I told you again and again about surprising me?" I ask, trying to keep my negative feelings in check.

"Come on, Sarah," he says, trying to take me into his arms again, but I hold up a hand to stop him. He drops his arms and looks at me. "You knew I was coming home today and we were going to be spending today together."

"Don't assume," I retort. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Sarah, I'm really getting tired of this," he says, his voice sounding whiny to my ears. "I don't think it is too much to expect my fiancée to spend time with me when I get back into town. I missed you when I was gone."

This time, he succeeds in getting his arms around me before I can pull away and he pulls me close to him so that I feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against my stomach. "Mic," I say in protest, struggling against his embrace. "We need to talk."

"Later, Sarah," he says, pressing kisses down my throat as he tries to slide his hands up under my shirt. "Right now, I need you."

Summoning all my strength, I push Mic away from me and take a few steps back to put some distance between us. Before, I might have ignored my concerns and let him sweet talk me into sex, but now I don't feel a thing for him. It may sound harsh, but after being with Harm just once, I can't figure out how Mic could have ever turned me on.

"Mic, listen to me," I say, trying to keep my voice conciliatory. "We really need to talk. I'd appreciate it if you would listen to what I have to say."

"What is it, Sarah?" I asks, crossing his arms over his chest. I can tell just from his demeanor that he really has no interest in what I have to say. Again, I wonder how I could have been so stupid all these months.

Taking a deep breath, I begin, "When you first offered me your ring, I was very flattered. I'd always wanted more than just a career and you were offering me everything I'd ever wanted. I thought that I could overlook the fact that we'd never dated, figuring that we could get to know each other later."

"But we do know each other," Mic insisted in that whiny voice again and I have to force myself not to cringe. "I love you and you love me."

"Mic, I don't love you," I blurt out. I have to go for broke at this point, since he's apparently not going to listen as I talk about all the reasons why this will not work. "I thought that I would grow to love you as time passed, but it's just not working. I can't make myself love you and you deserve better than that. You deserve a woman who can make you the center of her universe. I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

He's silent for a long moment. I guess I managed to shock him. I don't think he ever really considered the possibility that I would turn down his proposal. Witness how he has continually referred to me as his fiancée despite my protests that I'm not. Finally, he says, "But if you give me a chance. . . ."

"Mic, you've been here since May and it's now November," I point out, fighting for calm. "It's not a matter of giving you a chance. It's a matter of you asking me for something that I just don't have it in me to give. I wish I could give it to you, because you deserve a woman who will love you completely. But that woman is just not me and it never can be."

I take his ring out of my pocket and hold it out to him, the diamond glistening in the lamp light. He doesn't reach out to take it from me, so I set it down on the desk. Finally, he picks it up, turning it over in the palm of his hand. "What brought this on?" he asks quietly.

God, the one question that I don't really want to answer. I can't very well tell him 'Well, Harm and I had an incredible evening of lovemaking in his shower and now that he realizes that he loves me, I can't continue stringing you on'. Somewhat lamely, I reply, "I've just been thinking about and examining this situation while you've been gone."

I can see the anger building in his eyes, but I stand my ground. I refuse to let him push me around the way he has for the last six months. "I gave up everything for you," he points out, his voice tight. "You can't just waltz up to me after all these months and declare us over."

"Mic, please don't make this any harder than it has to be," I plead, beginning to seriously worry about his reaction. In the back of my mind, I consider calling Harm, but reject that idea. The last thing I need is to throw gasoline onto this fire.

He reaches out and grabs my arm and then stops, just staring at me. As I realize just what it is that he is staring at, my worst fears seem to be becoming reality. I can hear Harm's voice echoing in my head. ' What do you think Mic is going to say if you show up wearing a Naval Academy sweatshirt?' His eyes narrow in anger, staring at the blue USNA on the gray sweatshirt, and I wait for the coming explosion. It's not long in coming. "Where have you been, Sarah?" he asks angrily, his fingers digging into my arm, painful even through the layers of my clothes.

"Working on a case," I reply just as angrily, any pretense of civility gone as I try to yank my arm free of his grasp, attempting to pry his fingers off me. "As if that's any of your business anymore. I just told you that it's over."

"I won't accept that," he insists, maintaining his grasp on me. "I won't lose you to him."

I finally manage to pull myself free, falling backwards against the desk. I'm sure I'll have a lovely purple bruise on my hip in a few hours. I rub my arm, trying to restore some sense of feeling as I retort, "This isn't about losing me to anybody. This is about the fact that I do not love you and do not want to marry you."

"No," he insists angrily, looming over me. I try to slip around him, but he presses himself against me, effectively trapping me between him and the desk, his legs on the outside of mine, holding them in place. I can feel that he is still aroused and he's beginning to scare me just a little. I remind myself that I'm a Marine and that I will handle anything he tries to dish out. "You don't just dump me after wearing my ring for nine months, after I moved halfway around the world for you, after we've been practically living together and after all these plans I've made for us."

I push at him, but he holds fast against me. Taking a deep breath, I try to speak as calmly as possible as I refute each of his arguments. I need to try and calm him down. "Mic, this isn't just about you and what you want," I tell him, my voice level with no signs of my growing anger or fear. "A relationship between two people should be about what both of them want. I already explained about the ring. Yes, I did accept your ring and wear it on my right hand for nine months and I'm sorry if you feel I led you on – I probably did, even though that was never my intention. As for the rest, I never asked you to move halfway around the world for me. Now, it just appears to be to have been a move on your part to pressure me into making a decision. We are not living together. We do not spend every night together and you have your own apartment. As far as any plans that you have made, when were you planning to include me in any of these plans? How many times have I told you not to assume and not to surprise me? Mic, I don't feel like I'm in a relationship of equals with you. I feel like you're running the show and that I'm expected to just go along with whatever you want."

"But I did this all for you, Sarah," he insists. His eyes flash with anger as he presses on. "Has Rabb ever done any of these things? What has he ever given up for you?"

Mic has no idea what all Harm has done for me since I've known him, even going back to the very beginning when he put himself and his career on the line for a complete stranger. But I do not want to turn this into some kind of macho contest about what Harm and Mic have done for me. I still want to leave Harm out of this if at all possible. "But, Mic," I reply, "I never asked you to do any of that for me. You've never consulted me on any of this and I don't feel that it is right for us to be in a relationship where you apparently have so little concern for what I want and feel that you make these huge, life-altering decisions without consulting me about it."

My calm tone apparently is having an effect, because Mic pulls away from me and I slump against the desk, relieved. He starts pacing the room while continuing to plead his case. Thankfully, he appears to have forgotten about what he imagines is Harm's part in all this. "When I first met you," he says, his voice quiet, "I knew I'd never met anyone like you before. That was very apparent after your reaction to the way I had treated you at your court-martial. Then we grew closer over the following months, especially the following summer and I began to believe that you might feel the same way about me that I felt about you."

I force myself not to flinch when he mentions that summer, the one where Harm was off on the Patrick Henry pursuing his dreams. At least he didn't mention Harm by name. That gives me hope that we might get out of this situation with a minimum of scars.

"Then when we kissed right before I left for Australia," he continues, apparently lost in his own world right now. He doesn't seem to be paying any attention to me right now, "I knew that you had fallen in love with me, too. Then you came to Australia to see me and went to Manly Beach with me and then that ferry ride, when you accepted my ring, those were the happiest times of my life."

How could he have been so far off base? Did I really lead him on that much? Even when I accepted his ring, there had never been anything between us at that point to show anyone that we were anything more than friends. God, what have I done? How did I manage to make this big a mess of three people's lives?

"When I showed up at the Surface Warfare Ball and you accepted my presence, I took that as a sign that you were willing to move the ring over," he says while I struggle to contain my shock. He took my acceptance of his arrival in the States as a sign that I would move the ring over, yet he doesn't think it odd that I haven't moved it yet after six months?

"Mic," I say soothingly, "I'm sorry for you that this hasn't worked out. But I don't feel that it is fair to you to let you continue to have the idea that I might eventually move the ring over to my other hand."

"Sarah. . . ." he begins, interrupted by the ringing of the phone. I make a move to answer it, but Mic waves me off. "Let the machine get it. I'd like to finish our conversation."

I take a deep breath, a bit angry at his order, but I nod agreement. He has calmed down, so I feel I can extend him the courtesy of hearing him out, even if it will not change my mind. I motion for him to continue.

"Being here with you the last six months has been wonderful, and. . . ." he continues, stopping when my answering machine picks up and we hear a familiar masculine voice. Oh, God, no. Any hope I might have had for this ending on a somewhat friendly note go up in flames as I hear the voice of the man I love.

"Mac, it's me," he says into the machine as Mic's eyes narrow dangerously. "You're probably still at Mic's, but I was just looking over the Linson files – you know we never did get back to the case last night – and I realized that the Carter deposition is missing. I was wondering if you could look around your place and see if you have it before you head back over here. I'll see you later and I love you."

God, why did Mic have to show up at my place? If I'd been able to go over to his place as planned, then this wouldn't be happening. I open my mouth to speak, hoping to mitigate some of the damage that Harm has unwittingly done with his message, but before I can say anything, Mic lashes out and backhands me across the face. The force of the blow sends me flying into the door, my head striking against the doorknob as I fall to the floor. As I climb to my feet, dazed, I have the metallic taste of blood in my mouth from where I bit my cheek when I was struck.

Before I can rise completely, Mic grabs me by the upper arms and yanks me to my feet, pressing me against the door. "So you were working on a case last night," he says viciously, practically spitting his words at me. "But what were you doing the rest of the time before you wandered in this morning? Have you been playing me for a fool this entire time, Sarah? Why move the ring over if you can string me along and get some on the side from Rabb at the same time? Were you spreading your legs for him while I was back in Australia, waiting for you to make a decision? What about in Russia when the two of you seemingly dropped off the face of the planet? Do you enjoy having two men panting after you?"

"It's not like that," I protest firmly, bringing up one of my knees to strike him in crotch. Stunned, he releases me and falls to his knees, clutching himself. I go for the doorknob, but he sees what I am about to do and grabs my leg, yanking me down to the floor. He tries to climb on top of me but I am able to get enough leverage to kick him in the stomach. Dazed, he loosens his grip and I manage to scramble to my feet. Instead of going for the door this time, I race for my desk, yanking the chair out of the way and pulling open the center drawer as I hear Mic climb to his feet behind me. Just as he reaches me, I spin around, holding my gun in my hands, the safety off. Jingo comes up to me and growls loudly, baring his teeth at Mic.

"Back off," I shout, holding the gun steady in front of me even as I am shaking uncontrollably inside as I imagine what he might have done to me if I hadn't been a Marine and more than capable of fighting him off.

"Sarah, let's talk about this," Mic says in a conciliatory tone, holding his hand out to me. "Just give me the gun."

"There's nothing to talk about," I insist, resisting the urge to laugh. He assaults me then he wants me to hand over my means of protection? Maybe when Hell freezes over. "I think you need to leave."

"But, Sarah. . . ." he begins.

"But nothing," I interrupt angrily. "Get out of here and stay out and count yourself lucky that I don't call the police right now and report you for assault. And if you ever come near me again, I will immediately call the police. Make no mistake about that."

"I will not lose you, especially not to Rabb," he spits at me, his voice full of hatred.

"Let me add something else, just so we're clear," I retort, still holding the gun steady, aimed for his chest. "Not only are you not to come near me, I would not suggest going anywhere near Harm, either. Now get out of here before I change my mind about calling the police." When he still makes no move to leave, I scream, "NOW!"

Finally, he gets the message and swiftly departs. Only after he is gone and the door closed behind him do I lower the gun, shaking visibly now that I am alone. With trembling hands, I lock the door and fasten the security chain. Jingo walks up to me, his tags jingling, as I sink to the floor. I set the gun on the floor after clicking the safety back on and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck as I let go of my emotions and let the tears fall.

It may only be minutes or it may be hours that I sit on the floor, holding Jingo as I release everything that I kept bottled up inside during my confrontation with Mic. I've lost all track of time. Finally pulling away from Jingo, I brush the tears from my face as Jingo licks me, offering his own form of comfort. Taking a shaky breath, I get up and sit down at the desk, setting the gun on the center of the desk in front of me, staring at the phone for a long moment before picking it up and dialing a number even more familiar than my own.

"Rabb."

I open my mouth to speak, but I find that I can't say the words. After a moment, Harm says, his voice full of concern, "Mac? Are you there? I know it's you. Your name is on the Caller ID."

"Harm," I manage to say, my voice shaking. I can't say anymore, but I don't need to. He hears all he needs to in my voice.

"I'm on my way over," he says and I can hear him grabbing his keys. "I'll be over there in fifteen minutes."

"Harm," I say again, my voice barely above a whisper. "Carry your weapon, just in case."

"Mac, why should I carry a weapon?" he asks, his tone growing even more concerned. "What did Mic. . . ."

I hate to do it, but I hang up on Harm. I can't discuss this now, not over the phone. I need Harm here. I need to feel his arms around me. I need to know that everything will be okay.

-----

I am sitting slumped in my desk chair when I hear the strong knock at my door seventeen minutes and ten seconds after I hung up on Harm. Getting up as I grab my gun, I click off the safety again before I check the peephole, then click the safety back on as I recognize Harm on the other side.

Slowly, I unlock the door and unfasten the chain, then pull the door open. I look Harm straight in the eye as I pull the door open completely. I've barely gotten the door open before he is inside the apartment, pulling me into his strong embrace as he pushes the door closed behind him.

Without a word, even though I can sense that he is just dying to speak, he leads me to the couch and sits down, pulling me into his lap as he takes the gun from my trembling hands and sets it on the end table. I can feel him trembling as well as he runs his hands up and down my back trying to comfort me. I can just imagine what I looked like to him when I opened the door. My cheek stings where Mic hit me and I'm sure it is beginning to bruise. I'm a little off balance, probably because of hitting my head against the doorknob. I never knew something so small could hurt so much. And, though he hasn't seen it yet, there's the eventual bruise that I'm sure will form on my hip from where I hit the desk. Of course, I also may have marks on my arms from where Mic grabbed me several times.

I suppose I should count myself lucky. It could have been so much worse. If I wasn't so capable of defending myself. . . . No, I can't think about that. Right now, it's Harm I'm worried about. I know him and how protective he can be. I'm sure that his concern for me and my state of mind is the only thing that is keeping him from rushing out and tearing Mic apart.

We sit wrapped up in each other for twenty-eight minutes before Harm finally speaks. I can hear in his voice that same trembling I felt as he put his arms around me. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asks gently, kissing my temple.

I nod and start speaking slowly, staring at some imaginary point across the room, trying to gather my thoughts and to keep a lid on my emotions as I tell the story. "When I got home to change, Mic was here with his boss. He said that he'd asked to be dropped off here to surprise me."

I pause, waiting for Harm to say something, but he merely takes one of my hands in his and squeezes it, silently encouraging me to continue, "After his boss left, he tried to, um, get me into bed but I pushed him away and said we needed to talk. I tried to explain how I'd been flattered when he offered me his ring, but he wasn't listening to me and I ended up blurting out that I didn't love him. I tried to explain all the reasons why I couldn't be the kind of wife he should have. He kept going on about how if I just gave him a chance, he could change my mind."

I pause, taking a deep breath in an effort to retain my calm demeanor. I can feel Harm's eyes on me, but I still don't look at him. If I look at him, have to look him in the eyes, I might lose it. Finally, I continue, "He asked me what brought it on and I just told him that I'd been doing some thinking while he'd been away. I tried. . . .I wanted so much to keep your name out of it, but it was at this point that he noticed the sweatshirt that I'm wearing. He then started in about how he wasn't going to lose me to you. I remained calm and tried to deflect the conversation away from you and I think I was succeeding. He seemed to be calming down."

I pause again, tears filling my eyes as I remember what happened next. It is this part that I dread telling Harm the most. I know what is reaction is going to be. But I have to tell him. He needs to know everything. Hesitantly, I say, "The phone rang and Mic said to let the machine get it so we could finish our discussion. I agreed because he had finally calmed down and I didn't want to provoke him any more."

Harm's fingers tighten around mine as he realizes that it is his phone call that I'm talking about. "Mac, you don't need to continue," he says quietly, his voice full of guilt. He seems to realize that his message is what pushed Mic over the edge.

Taking a shaky breath, I counter softly, "No. I need. . . .you need to hear everything. I want you to understand. . . ."

I take another breath and return to the story, promising myself that there are parts I will leave out. Harm doesn't need to know word for word everything that Mic said. He doesn't need to hear just how vicious, how vulgar Mic was. "When he heard your message, he got very angry and backhanded me and I fell against the door. He then grabbed me before I could get out the door and accused me of stringing him along while carrying on with you the entire time. I kneed him and he let go of me, but then he grabbed my leg and pulled me down to the floor. I. . . .he tried. . . .I managed to kick him and got away. That's when I grabbed my gun. It took some convincing, but I made him leave."

Finished telling my story, I finally turn and look at Harm and my heart breaks at everything I see in his eyes. I can see so clearly his love and concern for me, his anger and hatred for Mic and what he has done and his guilt over his unintentional part in what happened here today. I run my fingers over his cheeks as I press my lips to his, taking comfort from his touch and his taste. As I pull away, I whisper, "It's not your fault, Harm. Please don't blame yourself."

"Mac, it's you I'm concerned about," he insists softly, his voice shaking slightly. "Did you call the police? And I think maybe I should take you to the hospital."

"Harm, I'm fine," I insist, trying to use my strongest, most sure tone, even if I'm feeling anything but right now. "No, I haven't called the police, although I told him that I would if he came after either one of us. As far as the hospital goes, I don't think that's really necessary. They're just bruises and they'll heal."

"Mac," he begins softly, gently brushing my hair from my face. His gentle manner is such a stark contrast to the harshness I was subjected to just an hour ago. "I really think you should let me take you to the hospital. If it does become necessary to go to the police later, then we'll have official records of what happened today and a record of your. . . .injuries. And I think you should let me call the Admiral."

Call the Admiral? Why? There's a part of me that blames myself and wants as few people to know about this as possible. However, that may not be an option, depending on how bad the bruise on my face is. I still haven't been able to bring myself to look at it in a mirror and there are some things that even layers of makeup cannot hide. Maybe it would be a good thing to bring the Admiral into this. Maybe he can keep Harm from doing something ill-advised, like going after Mic. Because God knows that if Harm got it into his head to go after Mic, I don't think I could stop him. I know better than anyone how Harmon Rabb can be with his obsessions and I fear that this will become another one to him.

Slowly, I nod. "Yes, I want you to take me to the hospital," I agree. He does have a point, the lawyer in me realizes. We need to have evidence, just in case. I just hope it doesn't come to that. I just want this to be over. I just want to be able to forget about it. "And I think we should call the Admiral."

Harm exhales and I realize that he had been practically holding his breath, waiting for my response. He looks down at my clothes and suggests, "Why don't you go change? I notice you're still wearing your clothes from last night. I'll call the Admiral while you're changing and ask him to meet us at the hospital."

I nod in agreement and climb off his lap, taking care not to appear to be limping from the pain in my hip as I make my way to the bedroom. Like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to the mirror hanging above the dresser, my eyes fixed on the sight of the large purple and blue bruise below my right eye running along my cheekbone. I trace the discoloration with my fingers, almost as if I can't believe its presence.

Slowly, I pull off my clothes, clinically taking catalog of my bruises as another one is revealed. As I pull off the sweatshirt and the blouse I have on underneath it, I note with detached interest the dark purple bruises shaped like fingers on my left arm, where Mic had grabbed me when he noticed the sweatshirt. Similarly shaped bruises, slightly lighter in color, ring my right arm from when he had grabbed both my arms after Harm's phone message. I pull off my jeans and, twisting around to see, I can make out the lower edge of a bruise at the bottom edge of my panties. My hands shaking, any hint of detachment gone, I slide my panties down and gasp softly at the large bruise on my right hip, approximately the size of a baseball.

My hands shaking, I pull a new set of clothes from my dresser with the exception of a shirt. I'll just put back on Harm's Academy sweatshirt. I can't explain it, but I need to feel him close to me, even when he's not physically holding me. Trying to control the trembling of my hands, resisting the urge to curl up into a ball and break down, I pull on my clothes then run my fingers through my hair, trying to gain some semblance of order in my appearance. As I study my appearance in the mirror, I see Harm's reflection and I wonder just how long he's been standing there. Did he see the bruises, a colorful, painful reminder of what happened here today? As I turn around and slowly walk towards him, I see the answer in his eyes. He saw.

Fighting back tears, I walk into his arms, holding tight to him as if he's my lifeline. "Oh, God, Harm," I whisper brokenly, my body shaking as I lose control of the emotions I've been trying so hard to contain.

I can feel Harm's body shaking also as he holds me and I wonder if he sees me as his lifeline as well. "It will be okay," he says and I imagine that if I pulled back and looked into his eyes, I would see him trying to hold back tears as well. "I promise, Sarah. I'll make everything okay for you."

-----

I nervously pace back and forth across the scarred linoleum, anxiously awaiting word. As soon as we arrived at the hospital, Mac was whisked away from me and I am forced to cool my heels waiting. I keep telling myself that she's okay, at least physically. She is right in that the bruises will heal. But it's not her physical injuries which concern me the most.

She's been through so much, survived so much. Just how much more should one woman, no matter how strong, be forced to take? I want so much to just take her into my arms and take away all her hurts and fears - hurts and fears that I caused.

God, we thought it was going to be so simple. She would go to Mic, I would go to Renee and we would tell them it was over. We would then be free to pursue a relationship of our own – finally on the same page after four long years of missteps, denied feelings and unspoken desires. Would that it could have been that simple. Why couldn't it have been that simple?

We should have known that it wouldn't be, couldn't be. If it were, then it wouldn't have taken us all this time to get here. Nothing has ever been simple and easy with us. If it had been, then so much would be different right now. That near kiss in Columbia would have been so much more. There would have been no doubts in Mac's mind as to who I was kissing in Norfolk. She would have known that she wasn't the only one crying the day I left JAG for what I thought was the last time. And, most of all, Australia would never have happened and she would not have worn another man's ring for the last nine months.

I sink into a chair, ignoring the stares from others in the waiting room, resisting the urge to fall to the floor in a broken heap and scream with the injustice of it all. I pick up a magazine off a nearby table in an effort to distract myself. I stare at the magazine unseeing, crumpling the fragile paper in my hands, imagining that it's Mic Brumby I'm tearing apart.

I never saw this one coming. Sure, I have never liked the man. To my mind, he exuded all the charm of a snake oil salesman. But he is a good lawyer. And, to be honest, I had never seen any indication until Mac told me otherwise last night that he didn't treat her any different from the way she deserves to be treated. What happened today came like a tornado – forming suddenly and leaving devastation in its wake.

I close my eyes against the pain in my heart, but I can't close my eyes against the images flashing through my mind – Brumby towering over Mac, trying to intimidate her; Brumby lashing out and hitting her so hard that she was thrown against the door; Brumby pulling her to the floor and trying to. . . .trying to. . . .

If Mic Brumby were to suddenly materialize in front of me right now, I honestly do not know if I could stop myself from killing him.

"Commander? Harm?"

I open my eyes and see at eye level the lower edge of a man's Navy service dress blues coat. Taking a shaky breath, I look up to see Admiral Chegwidden looking down at me, concern obvious in his eyes.

Another moment I've been dreading. When I called and told him I was taking Mac to the hospital, I refused to go into details, telling him that we would explain everything when he met us at the hospital. Under normal circumstances, I would have expected him to grumble a bit about that, especially since I obviously disturbed him getting ready to go into work, despite today being Saturday. But he was strangely silent on the phone – perhaps there was something in my voice that relayed the gravity of the situation – and he merely said that he was on his way. But now that he's here, standing over me, I don't know for the life of me what to tell him.

He sits down in a chair next to me and studies me, waiting patiently for me to explain everything. But how do I explain this? How do I tell my commanding officer, my mentor and my friend how my stupidity led to the woman I love being beaten? How do I tell him that because of me, the man who asked her to marry him threatened her with rape?

He puts his hand on my shoulder as I bite my lower lip in an effort to keep it from visibly trembling. But his gesture is of no comfort to me. I wonder if there is anything that can ease the pain that feels like a knife wound in my gut.

"Harm, can you tell me what happened?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

I draw in another shaky breath before replying softly, "Mac was beaten. She called me and I insisted that she let me bring her to the hospital."

I can feel the shock emanating from him as he digests what I have just said. "But how? Who?" he asks, his voice full of concern.

Now there's the hard part to tell. "Most of that story is Mac's to tell," I say cowardly. I can't tell him this. I'm not even sure I could put it into words if I wanted to tell him. "She should be the one to tell you exactly what happened since she was there." My hands tighten again around the magazine still in my hands. I'm mildly surprised at this point that it isn't just so much shredded paper at my feet.

Firmly, he pries the magazine from my hands and sets it aside. "Harm, Mac is one of the strongest people I know. She will get through this," he tries to reassure me.

"I don't know," I whisper brokenly. "Mac said the bruises will heal and she's right about that. But what about the rest? How does she live with the memories of what happened today?"

"Harm, she's been through rough times before – Dalton Lowne's death, being stalked, her husband's murder," the Admiral points out. "She survived them all. She will survive this one, too."

"Sir, you don't understand," I blurt out, jumping out of my chair and resuming my pacing, nervously running my hand through my hair. No, he couldn't possibly understand. He never knew how she had fallen off the wagon after Lowne's death. I never told anyone and, after we got the Chief off for beating that prostitute, he was willing to let the matter drop as well. He doesn't understand yet that one of the people Mac trusts most in this world did this to her. He doesn't understand yet that one of the people she trusts most is responsible for this. God, what if this drives her to the bottle again? How can I live with myself if that happens? How can she live with me?

"Mr. Rabb?" a female voice says from the doorway. I whirl around and see the nurse who triaged Mac standing in the doorway.

"How is Mac?" I ask, my words falling out of my mouth in a rush of emotion. "Can I see her now?"

"Ms. Mackenzie has asked to see you," she replies, her voice tight. She sounds unhappy about letting me back to see Mac. Wait a minute. . . .

Apparently, the Admiral is thinking the same thing that I am, because he demands, his voice low so as not to be overheard, but firm in its intent, "You don't think that he's responsible for this? Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie have saved each other's lives more times than I can remember, so the idea that he might have done this to her is abhorrent. I suggest you act like a professional and keep your ill-considered opinion to yourself. Now take us to see Colonel Mackenzie."

The nurse looks like she is about to argue with him, but one look at the fire in his eyes, the determination in his stance and she reconsiders. Without another word, she leads us down the hall towards the emergency room cubicles.

As we walk, I consider Admiral Chegwidden's words and wonder if he will feel the same once he hears the entire story. I may not have done this to Mac, but I am definitely responsible for what has happened today. I can feel his eyes on me and I wonder what he is thinking. I wonder what he will be thinking in a few minutes once he knows what I have done.

Still silent, the nurse pushes back a curtain and my heart breaks again at the sight of Mac and the visual evidence of what Mic Brumby did. She holds her arms out to me and I sit down on the edge of the bed, taking her into my arms. I hear the curtain close around us as I hold her tight, rocking her gently, whispering words of apology.

After a long moment, she pulls back from me, tears in her eyes. "It's not your fault," she tries to assure me softly, her soft brown eyes fixed on mine. "I don't blame you for this."

But I blame myself. Without meaning to, I've caused the person I love most in the world to be hurt in one of the most horrific ways imaginable. Something of my tortured thoughts must show in my eyes, because Mac puts her hands on my cheeks and whispers, "Don't, Harm. Please."

A discrete cough sounds behind me and we both turn to look at our CO. Mac smiles uncertainly and says, "Hello, Admiral." Even as I drove her to the hospital after we had already called him, she was uncertain of the wisdom of bring him in on this. Not that I really want to either, but I think it's necessary. If my worst fears become reality and Mic Brumby won't stay away from Mac, we'll need Admiral Chegwidden on our side just in case Brumby tries to harass her at JAG.

The Admiral pulls up a stool and sits down at the other side of Mac's bed. "How are you doing, Mac?" he asks, his voice as gentle as if it were his own daughter he were trying to comfort.

"Physically, I'm fine," she replies, looking down at her lap. "The bruises will all heal eventually. I'm lucky, actually. It could have been a lot worse." Her voice catches a little at the last bit and I image that she is remembering with crystal clarity those horrifying moments when she thought that Mic would try to force himself on her. She never said so in as many words, but her telling pauses and trembling voice as she related the story to me told me all that I need to know. My hands tighten into fists and my thoughts darken as I wish for just five minutes alone with Brumby. Just give me five minutes. I'd willingly trade my career and time in Leavenworth for just five minutes.

"But how are you doing, Mac?" he presses gently.

Mac hesitates before she replies, struggling to keep her voice strong. "As well as can be expected, Sir," she says. "It's hard, but I'm coping."

Before he can say anything in response, the curtain pulls back again and the nurse is there with a woman whose demeanor screams police. The nurse pulls the curtain closed again and the newcomer introduces herself. "I'm Detective Andrea Summers, DCPD," she says, holding out her hand.

Mac takes it, her grip visibly limp. "Sarah Mackenzie," she says, her voice dull and lifeless. She indicates me, then the Admiral. "This is Harmon Rabb and AJ Chegwidden."

Detective Summers shakes each of our hands in turn then pulls up another stool, sitting down as she pulls a notepad out of her jacket pocket. "Just take your time, Ms. Mackenzie," she says, smiling at Mac. "We're in no rush. Do you mind if I call you Sarah?"

"Actually, everyone calls me Mac," Mac replies. "You don't have a problem with Harm and the Admiral staying, do you? Admiral Chegwidden hasn't heard the story yet and I'd really prefer not to have to repeat it. And Harm. . . .well, Harm's my rock. I don't know what I'd do without him."

I smile wanly at her, not feeling very much like a rock right now. But I'm trying. She needs me to be strong for her. I have to try and put aside my dark and negative thoughts so that I can help her get through this.

"I don't have a problem with it, Mac," Detective Summers says. "In situations like this, the support of those close to you is very important. I guess the first question I should ask is 'Do you know who did this?'"

Mac nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbling on it nervously. "I definitely know who did this," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's. . . .I don't know what to call him. I mean, he wasn't really my fiancée, you know, since I wore his ring on my right hand. But he did ask me to marry him. . . ." Mac's rambling, something I don't think I've ever heard her do before.

I'm not surprised that it doesn't take long for Admiral Chegwidden to jump in. "You mean Brumby did this?" he asks, shocked. I know he's always thought highly of Brumby, so this is probably a real blow to him. Was I the only one not fooled by that smug, self-serving bastard?

Mac nods in reply, not looking at the Admiral as she does so, and explains to the detective, "Mic Brumby is a reservist in the Royal Australian Navy. He came here two years ago as part of an officer exchange program with our Navy. A year later, he was recalled to Australia and shortly after that, he asked me to marry him. I wasn't ready to commit, but I agreed to think about it and wore his ring on my right hand for the next nine months. He moved back to the States a few months ago to be closer to me and, I now realize, to attempt to pressure me into a decision. Last night, I finally came to the conclusion that I couldn't marry him and was planning today to return the ring. I was going to go over to his place, but when I got to my apartment, he was there waiting for me."

Detective Summers makes some notes on her pad, then looks up at Mac. "So what happened when you got home and found him waiting for you?" she asks.

"He just got back from a business trip and he was anxious to be with me, if you know what I mean," Mac continues, wringing her hands nervously.

"So he was trying to get you into bed?" the detective asks for clarification.

"Yes," Mac replies. "I told him that we needed to talk and I launched into a list of the reasons why I couldn't be the kind of wife he deserved and why I had come to the conclusion that I couldn't marry him. I gave him back the ring and he asked what had brought it on. After all, as he pointed out, he's been back in the States for six months and I hadn't pushed him away yet. I told him that I'd been doing a lot of thinking while he'd been out of town."

"But that wasn't all, was it?" Summers presses gently.

Mac laughs nervously. "Is it that obvious?" she asks. "At this point, Mic noticed the sweatshirt I was wearing and got upset. I guess that doesn't make much sense, does it? Couple of things I should explain. Harm and I were working on a case at his apartment. We'd gone out to eat and it started raining as we were walking back. My coat was still wet, so I borrowed one of his sweatshirts to wear home over my clothes. So that's what Mic got so upset about. The second thing is that Harm and Mic do not get along. Harm's been my best friend from almost the first moment I met him and I think maybe, in the back of his mind, Mic resents the close relationship that Harm and I share. I'm not sure why. Maybe he was possessive and wanted me all to himself. Maybe he didn't think that a man and a woman could be just friends. I just don't know."

Mac pauses in her ramblings and takes a deep breath. "Sorry about that," she says, her shoulders twitching nervously. "Anyway, Mic saw Harm as competition for my affections and he accused me of leaving him because of Harm. He got angry and grabbed my arm. I managed to pull away and fell against my desk. I eventually managed to calm him down, but. . . ." she trails off and I realize what's coming next. My phone message, left because I thought she would be at Mic's. Unknowingly, I cause the entire situation to blow up with devastating consequences.

She reaches over and squeezes my hand. I try to smile at her, but it's not much of one. I just don't have it in me to smile about anything right now. Maintaining her hold on my hand, she continues, "The phone rang and Mic requested that I let the machine get it so we could finish our conversation. It was Harm, thinking that I had gone over to Mic's. He was calling to ask about a file for the case we had been working on. Mic had his own interpretation of the message, put two and two together and came to the conclusion that I had been cheating on him with Harm. That's when he hit me. I fell against the door and as I was getting up, he grabbed me by the arms and yanked me up, yelling about me and Harm and wondering if we'd been running around behind his back the entire time. I kneed him and tried to get out the door, but he grabbed my leg and pulled me to the floor. He tried to get on top of me and I think he would have. . . .I managed to get in a position to kick him and I got away, grabbing my gun out of my desk drawer. It didn't take much to convince him to leave after that. I then called Harm and when he came over, he insisted on bringing me to the hospital, just in case I decide to press charges."

"It was the right thing to do," Summers says. "The problem in a lot of cases like this is the woman doesn't report it right away and then when she does, it's hard to get the evidence to back her up. Not to mention what a good attorney can make of such a delay."

"Oh, I definitely understand," Mac says dully. "We're all attorneys here." She motions to me, Admiral Chegwidden and herself. "Of course, Mic is too, so if I do press this, I can expect a fight."

"Let me briefly recap, just to make sure I've got this all straight," Summers says, bringing the conversation back around to the events of earlier. "You were on your way to break up with your boyfriend but he was waiting for you when you got home. When you tried to break up, he came to the erroneous conclusion, due to a chance phone call, that you were cheating on him and he beat you and you think he might have attempted to rape you if you hadn't managed to fight him off and grab your gun."

"I never said it was an erroneous conclusion," Mac says, so quietly that I almost don't hear her and I'm sitting next to her. I glance around and I can see that the detective and Admiral Chegwidden heard her as well.

Detective Summers sets her pad down on the bed and looks at Mac expectantly. I can't read Admiral Chegwidden. He's so good at hiding what he is thinking a lot of the time and he's just staring at Mac, waiting for her to continue. Mac squeezes my hand and gives me a wan smile. I nod reluctantly and she explains, "Well, I had taken the ring off and decided to break it off with Mic, but since I hadn't officially informed him yet, then technically I guess you could say that I did cheat on Mic last night." She doesn't have to say who with. That part is obvious, even to the detective who doesn't even know us.

"I see," Summers says, sounding non-judgmental. Good. The last thing that Mac needs right now is to be judged for something that isn't her fault. I just wish I knew with the Admiral is thinking. He is quiet and I'm afraid to look at him, afraid to see a hint of what he is thinking. "Let me tell you something. I don't care if you were having sex with the entire defensive line for the Redskins. You still don't deserve what happened to you. No woman does."

"I know that," Mac replies softly. "As a lawyer, I've handled assault cases before, it's just. . . ." she trails off, choking back a sob.

I pull her back into my arms, rocking her gently, and whisper against her hair, "Shhh, Sarah. It's going to be okay."

"Harm, don't you realize what he could do, what he could say?" she cries out, pulling away slightly to look me directly in the eye. It's as if she's forgotten that we have an audience. "An opposing lawyer could have a field day with this entire situation if it got that far."

"Mac, I don't care about that," I reply gently, brushing my hand against the bruise on her cheek. "The important thing here is that Brumby pay for what he has done to you, what he has put you through. You don't deserve what has happened, what you're going to go through trying to get past this."

"But I don't want to see you get hurt by all this," she insists. "Harm, I love you and I don't want you dragged into this."

"But I don't want. . . ." I begin before being interrupted by a throat clearing. I guess I forgot for a moment there about our audience, too. We both look down towards the end of the bed at Detective Summers, who is closing up her notebook.

"I think I have enough here to file a preliminary report," she tells us as she stands, pulling something out of her jacket pocket. She holds out a white business card, which Mac takes hesitantly. "There's no rush on this, but if you decide to pursue charges or if anything else happens, please give me a call. Is there a number where I can reach you if I have any more questions?"

"You can reach her at my place," I jump in before Mac can reply. She gives me a look as if she's about to argue, but I insist, "I want you staying with me, at least until we can arrange with your landlord to get the locks on your apartment door changed. Mic has a key, remember?"

I can tell by the look on her face that she hadn't even considered that. She hesitates, then nods as the detective hands me her notebook and a pen. I flip to a blank page and write down my home number, my cell phone number and the number at JAG, labeling each number. "You can reach us at either my home or my cell phone over the weekend," I explain as I hand the items back to her. "During the week, Mac can be reached at JAG headquarters. If she's in court, someone can get a message to her."

"Okay," she replies, putting the notebook and pen back in her pocket. She withdraws another card from her jacket and hands it to Mac. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but you might want to consider giving this person a call. She's helped a lot of people in similar situations."

"I'll think about it," Mac replies reluctantly. She holds out her hand, which Detective Summers shakes. "Thank you. I don't know what I'll do yet, but I'll let you know."

"Fair enough," she replies, nodding toward me and the Admiral. "I understand that the emergency room staff took pictures of your injuries, so I'll stop off and pick up those photos before I leave." Once she's gone, Mac leans back against the raised head of the bed and sighs.

"I'm glad that's over," she says, turning her head to look at me. She holds her hand up and I clasp it in mine, kissing the back of it as I cover our joined hands with my other hand.

"So, have they said when you can get out of here?" I ask, anxious to get her home where I can take her into my arms and never let her go.

"The nurse said before you came back here that she would be back after the police left with a prescription for the pain and my discharge papers," she replies. "We need to stop by my place and pick up Jingo and some clothes and stuff for me. Then I could really use some lunch."

I try to laugh a little at that last remark, but the sound that comes out of my mouth is about as far away from a laugh as one can get, sounding more like a groan of pain. "That's my Marine," I say weakly, "always thinking with her stomach."

"I'm counting on you to make sure that I get fed," she retorts, her voice sounding forcibly bright and cheerful. "Admiral, would you like to join us? I'm sure that, well, you want to discuss this situation further."

Wasn't she the one who debated me on the wisdom of calling the Admiral and now she wants to discuss this situation further with him? Right now, I'm beginning to doubt the wisdom of my own suggestion. Admiral Chegwidden hasn't said a word since the beginning of Mac's interrogation, when he was shocked by the identity of Mac's attacker. I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Before the Admiral can reply, I stand up suddenly, dropping Mac's hand. "I'm going to go find the head while you're waiting for your papers," I say in response to her questioning glance. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Promise."

Before I can run off, Mac grabs my arm and pulls me back towards her. "It will be okay, Harm," she says softly, stretching up to kiss me lightly.

I leave the cubicle, and Mac and the Admiral to the discussion that I'm sure will ensue now that I've left, and ask directions to the men's room. The bathroom is empty when I enter, but I resist the urge to scream out all my pain and anger. I need to hold it together. I need to be strong for Mac, if she'll let me be.

I turn on one of the sinks and splash some cold water of my face, trying to regain control over myself. I can just imagine what the Admiral thought of my rushing out like that, but I had to get out of there. I couldn't take it in there anymore – Mac's calm acceptance of my presence despite my guilt, the Admiral's inscrutable silence. I feel like the walls – or rather the curtains of the cubicle – were closing in on me.

I grip the edges of the porcelain sink in front of me, trying to keep from shaking. I don't think my legs can support me anymore and this sink is the only thing keeping me upright. After a few minutes, I hear the sound of the door opening, but I don't look up. I figured it wouldn't take him long to come after me.

I can see the blue of his uniform out of the corner of my eye as he stands against the wall beside the sink. "Mac is worried about you," he says, his voice normal as if we were talking about the weather. "She asked me to come talk to you."

"I figured that, Sir," I mumble, drawing a raspy breath.

"You know, she believes that you are blaming yourself for what happened," he says.

I laugh bitterly as I reply, "I guess she knows me too well."

He sighs as he continues, "And I'm sure, as well as you know her, that you are aware that she is blaming herself. After you walked out, she gave me a brief run down of what happened last night. She said that you offered her the opportunity to put a stop to it, but she didn't take you up on it."

"That would be true," I admit, closing my eyes as I remember how good it felt, being pressed against her, and realizing that if we went much farther that I wouldn't be able to stop. God, if we'd only known then. . . .

"I'm not going to stand here and tell you that I agree with what you two did last night," he says firmly. I almost believe that I do hear a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"I never expected that, Sir," I reply sadly, opening my eyes again and glancing up in the mirror. I don't think I could possibly feel worse if I were standing here having this conversation with one of my parents.

"But Detective Summers was correct when she said that Mac did not deserve this," he continues. "No woman does, no matter what the circumstances."

"I know that, Sir," I say quietly, but firmly. "I could never blame her for this."

He sighs again and puts his hand on my shoulder. I resist the urge to brush it away. "I was not suggesting that you do," he tells me, his voice so sure and strong. I really envy him his control right now. "But I do know that you're not going to be of any help to her if you wallow in self-pity. That woman in there is haunted by what happened, by what could have happened and she will need your strength and your love to get through it."

I jerk my head up at that last bit and finally look over at him. Yes, I do see a bit if disappointment in him eyes, but I also see something else – his unconditional concern and support. "Harm, I don't think I can remember a time when the two of you weren't in love with each other," he says, a half smile on his face. "I was beginning to think the two of you were never going to admit that and I don't know what brought it on now."

"I don't think we could really explain it either," I point out, attempting to force a grin. "It was like something just. . . .I don't know. I really don't know. I'd always told myself that I could never say anything as long as she was wearing that damn ring."

"And I don't know if I want to know," he continues, as if I hadn't just spoken. "But that whole issue does take a back seat right now. What's important right now is helping Mac get through this. And on that point, you have my unconditional support."

"Thank you, Sir," I say gratefully. "I think she's going to need all the support she can get, especially if Mic doesn't back off and leave her alone."

"You don't expect him to, do you, Harm?" he asks.

I shake my head as I shudder inwardly at the thought of Mic coming anywhere near Mac ever again. "No, Sir, I don't," I admit. "From some of what Mac said when she was telling me what happened today, he seems to think this boils down to some kind of competition between me and him. He refuses to see that there were problems in that relationship that had nothing to do with me. Mac told me some things last night that leads me to believe that even if we hadn't happened last night, that relationship would never have lasted."

"I'm afraid that I'm forced to agree with you," he says. "I can't see Mic backing down either. Just from what I've heard so far, he's possibly obsessed with the idea that if it weren't for you, he and Mac would still be together. I told Mac that we could discuss that at lunch together. Unfortunately, it's a bit tricky since he works for a law firm that had dealings with JAG. It's a little hard to just go to his firm and insist that they keep him away from JAG without charges having been filed or a restraining order obtained. We can certainly keep him away if he's not there on official business and I would definitely be willing to exercise my prerogative as the JAG to throw him out if he does get in and try anything."

He finally drops his hand from my shoulder and gives me a small smile. "Why don't we go get Mac and get out of here before she complains that you're not feeding her?"

"Yes," I agree, my voice dull and lifeless, "let's get out of here."

-----

With the Admiral following us in his rental car – Mac and I manage to have a half-hearted laugh in my car about his continued attempts to retrieve his car from the police impound lot – we stop at Mac's to pick up Jingo and some clothes for her. Her landlord doesn't keep office hours on the weekend, so it will be Monday at the earliest before the lock can be changed. We debate for a few minutes about whether she should drive her car over to my place. I insist that we don't need it, my argument coming from the position that I don't intend on letting her out of my sight the rest of the weekend. She weakly argues the point for a few moments, but eventually concedes the issue. I think that she wants to be out of my sight about as much as I want her to be out of my sight. Deep down, although I doubt she'd admit it, I know she is afraid that Mic will come back.

Before we leave her place, we call and place an order for Chinese which we pick up on our way back to my apartment after a stop at a pharmacy to fill Mac's prescription. As we enter my apartment, Jingo immediately takes up residence in the center of my bed, curling up for a nap. "Just go ahead and make yourself at home," I call to him, trying to lift the mood. Jingo lifts his head and gives me one of those canine looks that says 'I already have; got something to say about it?' then settles back into sleep.

Chuckling, Mac presses herself against my back and wraps her arms around my waist. "Love me, love my dog," she teases.

I turn my head and lift my eyebrows at her. It is good that her mood seems to have lifted – or is she just as good an actor as I'm trying to be? "I do love Jingo," I protest, pulling her around and taking her into my arms. "How could I not love a dog that is so protective of you?"

"Food's up," the Admiral announces. While Mac and I were engrossed in our little discussion of Jingo, he set our food out on the table along with some plates.

As Mac sits down at the table, I head for the kitchen. "What does everyone want to drink?" I ask.

"Just water for me," Mac says, already digging into her sweet and sour pork. The thought of my Marine and her stomach is enough to lift my mood just a little.

"Beer, if you've got one," the Admiral says.

I get the requested drinks and a water for myself. I could really use a beer right now myself – or something stronger - but if there's nothing else I've learned from Mac, it's that alcohol doesn't solve your problems. It might dull the pain for a while, but the problems will still be there when you come out of the alcohol-induced haze. As I sit down after passing out the drinks, the Admiral jumps right into discussing how to handle this situation.

"Mac, as I already told Harm earlier, your relationship is not my primary concern right now," he says, looking from me to her. "We will need to discuss it eventually and any impact that it will have on your working relationship, but that can come later."

"I appreciate that, Sir," Mac says sadly. "It's funny. A few hours ago I would have considered that a great concern, what will happen to us at JAG. Now it hardly seems to matter." I reach over and take her hand in mine, squeezing it and she gives me a grateful smile.

"Now, as far as Brumby is concerned," he continues, as if Mac hadn't spoken, "we have a bit of a situation there. If you were to press charges or obtain a restraining order against him, then I could easily bar him from JAG and his law firm wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight about it. But without something official backing us up, while I certainly intend to conditionally bar his presence, if he's there on official business, there's not a lot I can do. His law firm could argue that we're not cooperating with their attorneys. Now, if you'd like, I can certainly approach his boss and request that they not send him to JAG on official business or request that any necessary meetings take place somewhere else. But with only a police report to back you up and no pending charges, he may not agree."

"I still don't know if I want to press charges," Mac admits, pushing her food around on her plate. "Given the circumstances, it would get very dirty and ugly. I don't know if I want to go through that. Given that it's a first offense and it's my word against his, what kind of sentence would we be looking at even if he was convicted? Not much of one. Since he has dual citizenship, it's not like we could get him deported back to Australia even if he is convicted. Anyway, I don't want to put you through all that." That last bit is directed at me with a wan smile.

"Mac," I say firmly, "I don't care about me. I'm worried about you."

"Harm, we already discussed this," she reminds me. "Anyway, I did tell him all bets were off if he came after me – after us – again." She turns back to the Admiral and adds, "I agree with your approach. Until I decide whether or not to press charges, I think barring him from JAG except for official business is the best bet. I don't have any pending cases involving his law firm, so avoiding him when he does come by shouldn't be a problem. If it does become a problem, then we should probably take the step of requesting that he not be sent to JAG. Harm, what about your cases?"

I mentally run through a list of my cases, shaking my head. "No, I don't have anything either," I reply. Thank God. I don't think I could stand across from him in a courtroom without doing anything and Mac would probably kick my six for risking my career like that. That imagery almost lifts my dark mood.

"Well, that's one less thing," the Admiral says. "First thing Monday morning, I'll make sure the guards are aware of the restrictions regarding Brumby." He stops and looks at Mac intently before adding, "Mac, speaking as your friend and not your CO, I hope you will think long and hard about pressing charges. I can understand why you're reluctant, but I think you need some finality and also I believe Brumby needs a clear message that he needs to back off and back off now and he may not get that without police and court involvement."

"I understand that and I appreciate your support, Sir," she replies, "and believe me, I will probably be thinking of little else the remainder of the weekend."

"That's all I ask," he says, rising from his chair. "I'm sure the two of you have a lot to talk and think about, so I'll leave you to it. If you feel you need it, let me know and I'll grant you both a personal day on Monday."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Sir," Mac replies as we both get up to show him out, "but I do appreciate the offer." A quick glance from her stops my intended protest. I'll take it up with her later. I don't want her to bury all this by throwing herself into work.

"Just let me know if you change your mind," the Admiral says as I open the door for him. He stops in the doorway and turns back to face us. "Harm, Mac, no matter what happens, I have every confidence that you two will get through this together."

"Thank you, Sir," I reply sincerely. I'm grateful that, despite any disappointment he may feel about how this whole situation came about, he is behind us one hundred percent.

As soon as he is gone and the door is closed and secured, I head for the kitchen, stopping to pick up her water glass off the table. I refill the glass for her and hand it to her along with two of her pain pills. Throwing me a look, she washes the pills down with a swig of water. Since the warning label on the bottle proclaims that they cause drowsiness, I lead Mac to my bedroom, half surprised that she doesn't protest.

Jingo lifts his head when he hears us coming and moves so that he is laying out of our way at one corner at the foot of the bed. I lay down on my side, holding my arms open. She lays down next to me, her back against my chest as I wrap my arms around her.

"Harm?" she asks softly.

"Hmmm?" I murmur, taking her hands in mine and entwining our fingers.

"Remember when we talked earlier about not regretting what happened last night?" she continues as I hold my breath, momentarily afraid of where she is going with this. When I don't reply, she presses on, "I still don't regret what happened between us."

Her back to me, she can't see the thankful smile on my face. I release the breath I was holding and reply as I kiss the top of her head, "I don't either."

I can't see her face, but I can sense her smile. "Then we'll be okay," she proclaims.

I just hope she's right. I hope to God that she is right.

-----


	2. Part 2

INTERLUDE

As I carry my bags up to the apartment I use while in Washington, I wonder why I wasn't able to get a hold of that gorgeous lover of mine to get him to pick me up at the airport.I kept calling his apartment and what did I get?His answering machine.No luck on his cell phone either.He knew that I was out of town and that I could be back anytime.I would have thought that he would be waiting for my call, as anxious to see me as I am to see him.Aside from picking me up and helping me carry my luggage to my apartment, we could spend some time getting reacquainted.After all, men have needs and we haven't seen each other in eleven days.He better *not* have gone out of town on another investigation.That man needs to get into a civilian practice where he doesn't have to drop everything and go out of town at the drop of a hat.

Walking down the hall – why the hell does my apartment have to be so far from the elevator? – I see a man standing outside my apartment.He's facing away from me, so I can't tell who it is, but he does look to be well-built.If I wasn't already involved. . . . Oh, well.I am and I don't think my lover would appreciate my fantasizing about another man.He's too much of a Boy Scout for that.

When I am within a few feet of the apartment, the man apparently hears me coming and turns around.I do recognize the man.I've only met him a couple of time, but I've certainly heard him talked about often enough by Harm's friends.Never by Harm though.He can't stand the man and mentions him as little as possible.Burnby, Gumby?Something like that.He's the fiancée of that drab Marine Major that Harm works with.What could he possible want with me?Damn, Harm and the Major better not have gone out of town again.

"Can I help you?" I ask pleasantly as I drop my luggage next to my door and begin digging around my purse for my keys.

"G'day, Ms. Peterson," he says, pleasantly enough although there is something in his voice.Maybe it's just the accent, but his words sound a little slurred.A quick glance at his eyes and I begin to suspect it's less his diction and more the fact that he's been drinking.Just what I need, to deal with a drunken sailor.He's simply leaning against the wall and as long as he doesn't make a move towards me, invading my personal space, I can deal with him.You'd be surprised the kinds of men I've had to deal with working in Hollywood.Drunks, druggies, men with overactive libidoes.I think I've dealt with it all at one time or another.

"Hello, Mr. Burnby," I say, finally finding my keys and inserting them in the lock.He reaches down and picks up my suitcases for me."Again, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, it's Brumby.Mic Brumby.Just wanted to talk," he replies as I push open the apartment door.He carries them into the apartment for me before I can suggest that I can get them myself.Then again, why would I want to get them myself?Nothing wrong with having a man do things for me once in a while."You and I have a lot in common."

"What, dating those military types who go out of town at the drop of a hat?" I comment as I toss my purse on a table near the door.

Something flashes in his eyes, something that appears to be anger.Damn, they did go out of town again.Probably out of the country, too.He's probably as mad about it as I'm going to be once I confirm that.He ignores my question, however and holds up the suitcases he is carrying."Where would you like these?"

"In the bedroom is fine," I reply absently, gesturing in the general direction of the room.I go to the answering machine and press the play button.Three messages, two concerning various film projects I'm trying to land and one from a telemarketer.Nothing from Harm.Damn.If the man was going to leave on a case, you would think he would at least have the decency to leave me a message and let me know.Hell, I always carry my cell phone with me.He could easily have reached me.

"If you're expecting a message from Rabb, don't," a voice behind me says, so smug and sure.I turn around to find Mic standing behind me, his hands crossed over his chest."I expect he's got other things on his mind right now.Or maybe not on his mind."He laughs at that last statement, as if he just said something hysterically funny.As I throw him a puzzled glance, he adds, "I wouldn't expect to hear from him, unless of course it is to tell you it's over.Then again, maybe I'm underestimating the man.Maybe his needs are such that he has to have someone else to fulfill those needs when you're not around."

"Excuse me!?" I exclaim, not quite sure that I understand what he was just rambling on about.I'm not quite sure that I want to understand.I already know that Harm and Mic do not get along.Why would I take his word for anything concerning Harm?"Harm's not like that, Burnby."

"Brumby," he corrects me, but I'm barely paying attention.I'm more concerned about defending my boyfriend from the slick Australian.

"Whatever," I say with a wave of my hand."Harm is too much of a Boy Scout to do something like that.The man is so honorable that it can sometimes be a bit of a bore."Of course, he does definitely make up for that in other ways.I can't help smiling at that thought.

"Then maybe you can explain why my fiancée spent the night at his place last night and why she came home this morning wearing his clothes," he counters, leaning slightly towards me.I take a step backwards to put some space between us.

"Harm and that drab, mousy Marine?" I question, laughing.Yeah, right."What could he possibly see in her?I mean – those clothes and that hair.Please.Harm has better taste than that."

Mic doesn't even notice that I just insulted his fiancée.He continues to press his case."You haven't been around for all that long," he continues, a sinister smile on his face.I'm beginning to believe that he's angry at Harm for something and is trying to get back at him through me.I'm not buying.He's enjoying telling me this entirely too much for it to be true."You haven't seen the way they've always been together, at least before Rabb went off flying.Hell, they've probably been screwing each other the entire time behind our backs."

"I don't believe you," I state emphatically, picking up the phone.He simply laughs at the gesture.

"Planning to call Rabb?" he taunts, still laughing."I wouldn't expect him to answer.She's probably gone back over there, running back into his arms and into his bed.They're probably screwing each other as we speak.Why don't you just go over there – see for yourself?Are you afraid that I might be right?Or maybe it turns you on, the idea of your boy toy with another woman?"

I can't help the look of disgust that crosses my face at his insinuations."You're drunk," I proclaim as he laughs again.I'm fast seeing why Harm hates this man so much.

"Oh, I've been drinking, but I'm not drunk," he replies, eyeing me in a manner that makes me feel uncomfortable.I keep the phone in my hand, just in case I have to call 911 – or hit him with it.I'd probably hit him with it then call 911."I do know what I saw when Sarah wandered in this morning and what I heard when I heard the message Rabb left her on the machine.And she wasn't exactly falling all over herself to deny it."

"I think you need to leave," I say angrily, trying to bury down the flicker of doubt in my mind.What if. . . . No, I'm not going there.It's not true and that's all there is to it.It can't be true.

"Are you sure?" he asks, leering at me.I have feeling I know what's coming next."You know, maybe you and I could get to know each other better.It could be. . . .fun."

"I don't think so," I state angrily as I stride over to the door and yank it open.I guesture to the hallway."You need to leave now or I'm calling the police to have you escorted out."

"Just think about what I told you," he says as he moves towards the door."And if you change your mind. . . ."

"I won't," I retort strongly.Not if he was the last man on earth."Now leave."

Fortunately, he does as I insist and I close the door behind him, resisting the urge to slam the door.As soon as I am alone, I click on the phone and dial Harm's number.After three rings, the answering machine picks up."Damn!" I exclaim as I click off the phone.Turning it on again, I try his cell phone with similar success.I toss the phone on the couch in disgust.

Maybe I should go over there.Not to see if it's true.I can't believe that it's true.But I want to see my lover.After all, it has been eleven days and I do have needs.

+++

I feel so cold and empty inside when I wake up, part of it due to the fact that I'm alone in this huge bed.But a large part of it is due to the fact that there's a war waging inside of me between the strong, independent Marine who can take care of herself and survive anything and the scared little girl who has found herself the victim of yet another in a line of abusive males.Right now, I'm not sure which is going to come out on top in this battle.

A flash of lightning illuminates the darkened room and through the partition separating the bedroom from the rest of the apartment, I can see Harm standing at the kitchen sink while staring out the window at the falling rain, a bottle of some kind in his hand.Rubbing my arms, although I'm not cold in a physical sense, I climb out of bed and make my way as quietly as possible down the stairs.Maybe I can surprise him.I smile at that pleasant thought.That's what I have to do.Think pleasant thoughts.

As soon as I'm in the other room, I can make out what kind of bottle he is holding in his hand and I freeze, a cold fear seizing me.There are several other similar bottles on the counter, I can now see, all open along with a couple of larger bottles.God, Harm, no.Please, anything but that.Not that I mind when he has a drink in my presence.Just because I don't drink doesn't mean I expect those around me not to as well.But the idea that I may have driven him to get drunk terrifies me.That's me, isn't it – the woman who manages to destroy the life of every man she touches?I got Dalton killed because a psycho was stalking me.I did kill Chris.Mic was driven to hit me because I am in love with someone else.But this one hurts the worst.This time, I've managed to destroy the life of the man I love with all my heart.

Trying to maintain a calm, collected exterior despite my trembling inside, I take a few more steps until I am at the edge of the kitchen.In a way afraid to move any closer, I am about to speak when he does something that shocks the hell out of me.With a slightly shaking hand, he overturns the bottle and pours the contents out into the sink.Finally, I find my voice and ask, "What are you doing?"

I guess I did manage to surprise him, but this isn't what I had in mind.He turns towards me, startled, nearly dropping the bottle in his hand.He scrambles to keep the bottle from falling into the sink and shattering."I thought you were still asleep," he says, seemingly ignoring my question."Do you want something to eat or drink?"

I move closer, taking inventory of the open bottles on the counter.Five beer bottles, two wine bottles and even a bottle of bourbon – all empty.There are three more beer bottles on the counter along with the bottle opener and a corkscrew for the wine bottles."Are you planning to pour out all the alcohol in the apartment?" I ask as he sets the bottle in his hand aside and picks up another one along with the bottle opener.

"Yes," he replies shortly, opening the bottle with a hard yank of the opener.The bottle top hits the sink with a loud clink.He then proceeds to dump the contents of that bottle out into the sink, too.

I close the distance between us and place my hand on his arm."Please, talk to me," I beg as he continues to stare at the torrential rain outside, not even looking at me. God, as much as this whole situation is tearing me up inside, I fear that it may be tearing him up even more.Harm has always been one who feels deeply, even when he won't talk about those feelings.He tends to internalize and I worry that in this situation that is the unhealthiest thing of all.

When he doesn't respond, I pry the bottle and opener out of his hands.Taking hold of both of his hands, I force him to turn towards me, but his eyes are cast downward."Harm, listen to me," I plead."I'm sorry that this is hurting you so much and I can understand why you might want to drink to dull the pain, but this. . . ."Harm's head jerks up as another flash of lightning lights the room and his face, his eyes wide with surprise and then it hits me.

"You're not tossing out all the alcohol because you want a drink and are afraid of getting drunk in front of me," I say softly, sighing with relief that I haven't driven him to drink."You're afraid that I might want a drink.You're trying to prevent me from falling off the wagon again."There's a part of me that wants to be angry at him for assuming that I would want a drink because of what happened.But I guess after seeing me drunk that one time, he is determined to make sure that it will never happen again.After what happened with Mic, I can't complain about a man who is putting me first.

Harm doesn't say anything, merely looking at me with brilliant eyes filled with sadness and pain.Gently tugging on his arms, I lead him towards the couch.Pushing him onto the couch, I sit in his lap, curling up against him with my head on his shoulder.His gaze distant, his arms go around me almost as a reflex.

"Harm," I begin hesitantly, uncertain of the words.Like Harm, I'm not often one who talks about what I am feeling either.But I am concerned that not talking here will tear us apart.I don't really want to talk about this either, but I gather my courage and continue, "We need to talk about this, what we're feeling."

"Mac, this isn't about me or what I'm feeling," he protests, resting his head against mine."It's about what happened to you and how you're dealing with it."This is such typical Harm behavior and normally I would want to shake him silly for it.But I can't.It just saddens me too much that he is feeling like this because of me.

"No, it is about both of us, to a certain extent," I protest."What affects me affects you and vice versa.Or at least that's the way I think it's supposed to work.I've never really been in a relationship like that before.But I want us to be like that.I want us to be able to share everything, the bad as well as the good."

"I've never really been in a relationship like that before either," he admits softly."I'm kind of curious to find out what that's like."

"So would I," I agree, smiling a little."So will you talk to me?"

I feel him nod against me and my smile grows wider.Maybe after everything, we both are all too aware of how precious and fragile what we have is."I'll try," he promises, running one of his hands absently along my bare outer thigh.That feels so comforting and I relax into his embrace, sighing softly.

We sit here for a few minutes, drawing comfort from our physical embrace, before I begin laughing.It's the first genuine laugh I've had since this morning."You know, one of us needs to start talking here," I point out.

"I know," he simply replies.

After another moment, I sigh deeply.I should have known that getting Harmon Rabb to talk first about his feelings would be like pulling teeth or worse."Harm, I've been worried about your reaction to what happened earlier," I say."At times you've been distant and at others you've been concerned about me, which believe me I do appreciate, while relegating your own feelings to the back burner.Please, tell me what you're feeling."

When he finally does speak, his voice is so soft that I have to strain to hear him, even curled up in his arms."When you first called me and asked me to come over, I didn't think much of it at first," he says and I can hear the fear in his voice."I just thought that you might have had an argument with Mic and were upset that he didn't take the break up well.I thought that you just wanted to be comforted, although I guess it should have occurred to me that could have waited until you came back over here.Then when you told me to carry a weapon, I. . . ."

He trails off and his arms tighten around me, but I resist the urge to finish the sentence for him, despite knowing what he is probably about to say.I need to hear him say the words.For himself, he needs to be able to say the words.Finally, he continues, "I was scared.When you hung up on me without telling me what happened, so many possibilities went through my mind.I mean, it couldn't be something small or why wouldn't you have told me over the phone?I was so afraid of what I would find when I got over to your place.A beating was probably the least of what I was imagining."

He pauses again and I have to resist the urge to burst into tears."I know that probably wasn't the smartest move," I admit, my voice trembling, "not telling you anything over the phone.But I wasn't thinking about how you would construe it.I just wanted you to come over and put your arms around me and assure me that everything would be okay.And maybe, at the back of my mind, I thought that if you could see what happened, then I wouldn't have to tell you.You would just know and I wouldn't have to talk about it."

"I was torn between rushing over to you and going out to find Brumby and tear him apart," he admits after another long moment of silence."I hadn't felt like that. . . .well, since Coster and those moments when I lost the tracking signal.But this time was worse.Instead of finding you okay for the most part, as I did before, I saw. . . ."He shakes his head, almost as if he's trying to push away the horrifying thoughts of that moment when I opened the door of my apartment to him.

"I kept thinking there was something that I could have done," he continues, moving past that horrifying moment when he saw me for the first time."What if I had insisted on going with you?What if I hadn't let you wear that sweatshirt?"

"You think I haven't thought some of the same things?" I ask, my voice quiet."As I waited for you to arrive, I kept thinking about what I might have done differently to prevent this from happening.What if I had let you come with me?Why didn't I leave Mic a message and ask him to meet me someplace public?But you know what?If you had come with me, we would probably have had a repeat of your fight in Australia.If I had asked him to meet me someplace public, he still would have been at my apartment waiting for me when I went home to change, having never gone home and heard the message.I can't think of a single thing that I – or you – could have done differently that would have changed the outcome.My God, look at your phone call.You had no way of knowing that I wasn't at Mic's where I said that I was going to be."

I just happen to glance up and I see such a look of anguish on his face.That's what this all boils down to, I realize.If he hadn't called and left that message, where he talked about how we never got back to the case last night, how I was on my way back over and how he loved me, then in all probability, Mic would not have lashed out at me the way he did.That knowledge is what is tearing him up inside."Harm, please don't torture yourself like this," I plead softly, shifting in his arms so that I can look him in the eye, my hands on either side of his face."We have to let it go and accept that there's nothing either of us could have done to prevent this."

Now there's an ironic choice of words.Let it go.That's what it all boils down to for us, isn't it?Letting go."Harm, I am a strong person and I've lived through situations as bad or worse than this before I ever met you," I tell him, tears stinging my eyes."And I know that given time I can get through this.But I don't want to get through it alone.I want and need you there, supporting and loving me every step of the way.And I want to be there for you as you deal with this too.You don't have to be strong all the time, any more than I have to be."

I can see his bottom lip barely trembling as he tries to smile for me, a single tear slipping down his cheek.I kiss his cheek, catching the salty wetness on my tongue.I pull back slightly and try a smile of my own, tears stinging my eyes.We gaze at each other for a long moment before I lean towards him again, my lips brushing his questioningly for a brief moment before I deepen the kiss, pressing my body against his as my tongue explores his mouth, insistent and demanding.

God, I need this so much. I shift in his lap so that I am straddling him.I thought talking would help, but right now, talking just makes me think about it too much and I don't want to think about it.I want to feel.I need to feel loved and cherished and supported – everything that Harm makes me feel.

My hands slip between our bodies, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as my mouth moves along his jaw line up to his earlobe.I tug on it with my teeth as my trembling fingers fight with his shirt.Frustrated with my lack of progress in opening his shirt, I give a hard yank, buttons flying everywhere as the room becomes bright with another brilliant flash of lightning, followed by a loud crash of thunder that seems to shake the building.

Harm pushes me away slightly so that, while I'm still in his lap, my body is no longer pressed up against his.His breathing is rough as he murmurs, "Mac, we. . . .not like this."

What?He couldn't have just said. . . .I feel like I've been doused with cold water and I slide off his lap, choking back a sob as I move down to the far end of the couch, my legs pulled up against my chest, my forehead resting on my knees.I feel a shifting of the couch cushions as he gets up from the couch, but I don't look up, even when I feel his hand on my shoulder as he kneels on the floor next to the couch.

"Mac. . . .Sarah, I'm sorry," he says softly, his hand slowly moving up and down my spine.I bite my lip, trying to ignore the tingling his touch evokes in me."Please, look at me."

"I can't," I whisper harshly, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands.I try to focus on the pain in my hands so that I don't have to think about the pain in my heart.

"Sarah, please," he pleads, pressing kisses against the back of my neck."You misunderstand me.I do want you.I've wanted you so much for four years that it hurts inside."

"But, you just said. . . ."

"When I said not like this," he explains gently, his fingers still lazily stroking up and down my back.God, that feels so good.If he doesn't want me, then he needs to stop doing that, because his touch is only making me want him even more.But my mouth can't form the words because I don't want him to stop."I meant that I. . . .Sarah, please look at me.I want you to see the truth."

Reluctantly, I lift my head slightly and turn towards him.Sighing with relief, he continues, "I do want to make love to you, but I want it to be slow and gentle.I want you to feel cherished and taken care of."He stands and, involuntarily, I lick my lips as he takes my hands and pulls me off the couch.Then he surprises me by sweeping me up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" I gasp as I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face against his throat, inhaling his scent.

"Treating you the way you deserve to be treated," he replies as he slowly carries me across the room and up the stairs to the bedroom, setting me carefully on the bed, my legs dangling over the edge.He stands next to the bed, just looking down at me and I see such love in that look that it brings more tears to my eyes, happy ones this time.I reach for the waistband of his jeans, but he grasps my hands, stilling them.I look into his eyes, confused.

He kneels in front of me between my legs and cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently against my cheeks.I'd never thought that such a light, gentle touch could make me feel – I don't know how to describe it.So cherished, so loved, and yet so aroused.It feels like every wonderful feeling I've ever had about Harm all wrapped up into one.No man has ever made me feel like this before.He stares into my eyes for a long moment before he finally answers my unasked question, "I'm going to make love *to* you."

+++

Afterwards, I curl up on my side facing the center of the bed with Harm behind me, spooning up against my back, a hand lazily moving up and down my thigh.

After laying here for a moment in silence, Harm begins quietly, "What was that about. . . ."

I roll over so that I'm facing him and place a finger over his lips to silence him."Shhh," I tell him."You just gave me one of the most beautiful experiences of my life and I just want to lie here and enjoy it.I love you and I just want to forget the rest of the world and. . . .everything for just a little bit.Right now, at this moment in time, there's just you and me and this beautiful thing between us."

Harm looks slightly. . . .I don't know, embarrassed, maybe.I laugh a little to lighten the mood and tease, "I can't be the first woman to tell you that making love with you is a beautiful experience."

He appears to ponder this for a moment, then shakes his head."I think I've been told a lot of things," he replies, a slight smile playing at his lips, "but I don't think I've heard beautiful before.Maybe it's. . . ." he trails off, uncertain.

"Being in love," I suggest and he nods his head slightly in agreement."I think that's the difference.It means more.At the risk of sounding like a sentimental sap, it was almost a spiritual experience." 

"A spiritual experience," he muses, rolling onto his back and pulling me against him.I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady thump-thump of his heart, sighing contentedly."I don't think I've heard that one either."

I laugh, tapping his chest with a finger."Stick with me and I promise to stroke your ego with statements like that for a long time to come," I tease.

"'Stroke my ego'?" he counters, cocking an eyebrow at me while I struggle not to laugh.

I shrug."Or other body parts," I add saucily.Before I realize what he's doing, Harm flips me over and looms over me, his fingers moving over my sides."No, Harm," I screech."I'm ticklish. . . .Harm!"

As the sound of our laughter fills the air, I can almost forget that there's a not-always-nice world waiting for us outside the four walls of this apartment.

+++

When I wake up several hours later, the storm outside has stopped and I wish the clouds over my heart would disperse that easily.When I'm with Harm, wrapped up in his arms, it's so easy to forget everything that's happened.But lying here in the quiet, it all starts to come back to me.

I roll over, intending to snuggle up to Harm, suddenly realizing that I'm alone in the bed.I prop myself up and notice a piece of notebook paper lying on the bed beside me.

Sarah – 

Ran to the Chinese place a few blocks away to get us some dinner.Remember to stay put and keep the door locked.I'll be back soon.I love you.

- Harm

'I love you.'Those words seem to come so easy between us now.It's almost like a floodgate opening.Then again, once Harm really decides to do something, he tends to go at it full speed ahead.I suppose a relationship with me would not be an exception to that.And I, for one, could not be more thankful.

I climb out of bed and grab some underwear and a pair of loose fitting pants from my suitcase.For a top, I opt again for Harm's Academy sweatshirt, trying not to think about a Marine being obsessed with wearing a Navy shirt.For some reason, I just feel comforted wearing it, probably because it's something of Harm's.Just like that night that seems like an eternity ago, when we thought Clay had died.In an odd way, I felt better wearing another of Harm's sweatshirts, especially since I was afraid to ask him to hold me the way I wanted to be held by him.

Dressed, I head for the kitchen for a drink and see the assorted bottles still on the counter.I grab all the empty bottles and toss them in the trash can, then return the unopened bottles to the fridge.Standing with the fridge open, I ponder what I want to drink when I hear a key in the lock.

"So what did you get me to eat?" I ask, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge and turning around."I'm starved. . . ."My voice trails off as I find myself face to face with a wide-eyed Renee Peterson.

+++

As I went to and from the Chinese restaurant for our food, I couldn't help constantly looking around, on guard for the slightest sign of trouble and not just because of the rough neighborhood that I live in.We haven't heard a word from Mic Brumby since this morning – no demanding phone calls, no pounding on the apartment door, nothing.I'd like to think that it's because he took Mac's warning that she would call the police if he bothered her again to heart, but I know better.If he lost control enough for him to lash out at her once, he can and probably will do it again. 

It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop.There's a part of me that wants him to try something just so we can throw that smug bastard behind bars where he belongs, but only after I beat him to within an inch of his life for what he did to Mac this morning, for what she's still going through because of him.

I just wish that I knew what to do for Mac.She's trying so hard to be strong, but then the façade will slip and it breaks my heart to see just how much she is hurting inside.She's almost like a scared little girl deep down and I want nothing more than to take away all the pain that she is feeling.But I don't know how.And God help me, it's all my fault.

And it's not just my ill-timed phone call.There are so many things that I could have done differently over the last four years.If only I'd not let Mac pull back in Columbia.If only I'd told her that it was really her I was kissing that night in Norfolk.Then there are the really big regrets.If only I'd never left her to return to an ultimately dead-end career as a pilot.If only I'd told her what I was really feeling before I left.If only I hadn't let us get so far apart while I was gone.If only I'd worked harder to bring us back together upon my return.And then there's the biggest regret of all.If only I hadn't choked on the ferry, unable to put into words how much I really wanted and needed her in my life and not just as a friend.

What's that old saying?'Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these – it might have been.'If any one – just one – of those things had been different, then we wouldn't be where we are today.Then I wouldn't be watching the woman I love suffering because of the actions of a man whom she thought was the one that was different from all the other men who've ever hurt her.

I enter my apartment carrying a bag with our food, blindly tossing my keys on the bookcase as I kick the door closed."Mac, food's here," I call out as I carry the bag to the kitchen.

"Um, Harm," Mac begins hesitantly, her voice coming from the living room.I don't even turn in her direction as I grab some plates and a couple of glasses for our drinks and set them on the bar.

"What do you want to drink?" I ask, pulling the containers of food out of the bag.I open one container and dump the rice inside on a plate, seeing Mac come towards me out of the corner of my eye.

"Harm, will you stop for a second?" she asks, covering my hand with hers."Um, there's something that you need to know."

"Can we talk after we eat?" I ask, staring at her bare right hand, remembering the ring that used to sit on her third finger."I just. . . ."

"Harm," she repeats my name, her voice bearing an edge of frustration.When I still don't respond, she sighs heavily, then blurts out, "Harm, Renee's here."

"What?" I ask, my head jerking up and whipping around to see Renee standing by the couch, looking a bit uncomfortable as she watches us.As a reflex, I jerk my hand away from Mac's, but she doesn't even react, merely looking at me with sympathy in her chocolate eyes.

"You two really need to talk," she says softly."Look, I'll be okay here.Why don't you take Renee out to eat somewhere?She's had a really long flight out from California and I'm sure she's hungry."

Right now, I could care less about what Renee wants or needs.I don't want to think about what Renee's being here means."I don't want to leave you alone again," I tell her, keeping my voice low so that only she can hear.

"I know you want to take care of me," Mac replies, just as quietly, putting her hand on my arm and rubbing gently."But Harm, you really owe it to Renee to talk to her after everything.I know this is not how you imagined this happening, but you really do have to talk to her.You need to explain things.Mic went to see her; he was waiting for her when she got home."

"What?" I demand, my voice louder.I turn to look at Renee, concerned.Even though I don't love her the way she wants me to, I do care about her and don't want her anywhere near Mic Brumby."Are you okay?Did Mic. . . ."

"Do anything?" she asks, shaking her head."No.I think he sees me as some kind of victim in all of this, just like he sees himself.He had been drinking, but it was. . . .I don't want to say fine, after seeing what has happened to Mac, but I got rid of him.Look, I really should go.We can talk later."

She moves towards the door, but Mac stops her."Renee, wait," she says, then looks at me pleadingly.I look down at the counter for a moment, then look back up at Mac.

'Are you sure?' I mouth and she nods.

"Do you want to grab some dinner, Renee?" I ask, trying to keep the reluctance out of my voice.I don't want to do this now, but Mac's right.I do need to deal with this.Renee didn't deserve to find out about everything, not like this, and especially not from Mic Brumby.God only knows what he told her."I don't. . . .you deserve an explanation."

She looks from me to Mac for a moment, then nods."Okay," she agrees, her voice as reluctant as I feel.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?" I ask Mac and she gives me an exasperated look.

"I was fine when you went out to get our dinner," she points out."I've got Jingo to keep me company.I'll just curl up on the couch, eat my dinner and listen to the radio."

"Okay," I say reluctantly, squeezing her hand.I want so much to kiss her, but not in front of Renee.I don't want to rub her nose in this anymore than it already has been.

"I know," she whispers."It will be okay.I'll be waiting for you when you get back."

+++

Renee and I sit across the table at the restaurant, staring at each other.I wish that I knew what she is thinking, but she just stares at me impassively.After her testimony in the Grenada trial, I knew exactly what she was thinking, just from the tears in her eyes and the stiff way she held herself as she stepped down from the witness stand.But nothing in her body language gives me an indication of what she is thinking now.

Finally, the silence gets to me and I begin hesitantly, "Renee, I'm sorry. . . ."

"Sorry for what exactly, Harm?" she interrupts, her voice soft, but with an angry edge to it."Sorry for leading me on for the last nine months?Sorry for making me fall in love with you?Sorry that you cheated on me?What exactly are you sorry for?"

"I guess I deserve that," I say, staring down at the table top.I'm not used to being in this position and I'm not just talking about what's happened this weekend.Usually I'm the one being dumped, not trying to think of how to explain why I'm the one doing the dumping."I can understand why you're upset."

"I'm not just upset," she counters, tears filling her eyes."I'm angry, Harm.I'm so angry that I want to yell and scream at you, to demand how you could do this to me.I'm so angry that I want to throw things.I'm so angry that I want to hurt you the way you've hurt me.I'm so angry that I want Mac to pay for stealing my man away.But you know what? Doing those things won't accomplish anything.In the end, I'll still be a woman who was foolish enough to wish for things that I can now see were never going to happen.I guess hindsight really is twenty-twenty."

"I don't know what to say to you, Renee," I say, shrugging."I just. . . .I wish there was some way to make all of this easier."

She leans across the table, brushing the tears from her eyes."Unfortunately, you can't," she replies firmly, her voice shaking – not a lot, but just enough that I notice.Damn.She pauses a moment to compose herself, then continues, "I love you.I wanted to marry you, to have your babies.Only, I find out that I've been living a lie for nearly a year."

"Renee, I'm sorry. . . ." I begin, but she interrupts again.

"Please stop saying that," she demands softly."If you really were sorry, none of this would have ever happened."Her tears are now falling faster than she can wipe them away with her fingers and I hand her a napkin across the table.She dabs at her eyes, then looks at me and utters a single word, "Why?"

I take a deep breath as I stare at her, trying to think of what to tell her.I don't know what she and Mac talked about before I arrived, aside from the fact that they obviously discussed Mic, what he did to Mac and his impromptu visit to Renee.There's a part of me that wishes Mac would have explained things to her so that I wouldn't have to.I'm such a coward.But I know that Mac wouldn't have done that.If Renee had asked her anything about our relationship, Mac likely would have told her that she needed to talk to me.

Finally, I counter, "Do you really want to know?"I want her to say 'no' so we can drop this whole painful topic and just go our separate ways.But there's probably a snowball's chance in hell of that happening.

I'm proven correct."I don't want to," she replies, "but I need to know.I need to know how the man I loved, who is supposed to be an officer and a gentleman, could so easily betray me."

The 'officer and a gentleman' bit stings, but only because it's all too accurate in this case.I've always prided myself on being the epitome of what a Naval officer should be.But after denying my feelings for Mac for four years, maybe it was just high time that something broke.And while I'm not sorry that everything's finally out in the open between me and Mac, I am sorry that Renee got hurt in the process.I know that most of my friends never understood what I saw in Renee, but she is a good person and didn't deserve this.Hell, before this morning, I probably would have thought deep down that Mic didn't really deserve this either.

"Believe me, it wasn't easy," I finally reply, referring to this entire situation rather than to just what happened last night."If it were, I wouldn't have spent the last four years denying what was right in front of me."

"So you've been in love with her the entire time," she states softly, taking a sip of her water.Her hand is shaking as she sets the glass down and I cover it with mine, but she jerks her hand away."Please, don't do that.I can't. . . .it hurts too much."

I pull my hand back and say, in response to her previous statement, "Have I always been in love with Mac?I honestly don't know.Maybe.Our relationship's always been a bit. . . .complicated and I don't know if I can pinpoint an exact moment when I realized that I love her as more than a friend."

"Why now?" she asks."If you've gotten so good at hiding your feelings over the last four years, then why did everything change all of a sudden?Or maybe it wasn't all of a sudden?Was Mic right?Have you two been carrying on behind our backs the entire time?"

"No," I say forcefully, a bit louder than I intended.Several of the restaurant's patrons turn to stare at us and I lower my voice as I continue."No, it just started last night.And I don't even know why, can't even explain it.It was just like, in this one instant, everything became so clear and we couldn't deny our feelings any more."

"I'm sorry I asked that," she says softly, twirling her fork in her hand."I didn't think Mic was telling the truth about that, but then again, I thought he was just accusing you two of having an affair because he wanted to get back at you for something."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I counter."I'm the one who hurt you."

"How noble of you," she says sarcastically and I have to force myself not to flinch.I suppose I should be thankful that she didn't go with her first instinct to yell and scream and throw things – or to hurt Mac.

"How long had you been at the apartment before I got there?" I ask.I'm not sure that I want to know, but Mac's already been hurt enough and I need to know if Renee said anything, intentionally or otherwise, that might have upset Mac.

"About half an hour," she replies, looking me straight in the eye.I'm a bit uncomfortable under her intense scrutiny, but I don't turn away."Worried that I might have said something to upset your girlfriend?"

I don't reply and she sighs."Sorry, I didn't mean to say that last part," she explains."This is just getting to me.Actually, we hardly talked about you and her at all.I had asked if what Mic said was true, but Mac insisted that I needed to talk to you.Actually, I suppose you could say that was as good as admitting it.After all, if you two hadn't had sex, why not just say so?I know she doesn't like me, but she's never struck me as being petty and vindictive enough to make me believe there is something going on between you two when there isn't."

"She's not," I say."So what did you two talk about or are you going to tell me you just stared at each other for the half hour until I got home?"

"Well, we did talk about Mic," she says."I guessed that he had been responsible for the bruise on her face and I told her about his stopping by my place."

"What exactly did he say to you?" I ask, concerned.I know she had said earlier that everything was okay, but I am just not in a position anymore to believe the best about Mic Brumby.

"He helped me carry my luggage in," she tells me, her voice steadier."I could tell from his eyes that he'd been drinking, but he didn't seem threatening.I just thought he was upset because you and Mac had gone away on some case.Then I listened to my messages and he said that I shouldn't expect one from you, although he said he supposed that you might enjoy being involved with two women at the same time.Then he said that Mac had stayed out all night and wandered home this morning wearing your clothes and that maybe you two had been, um, together the entire time behind our backs.Then he suggested that maybe he and I should get to know each other better."

"But he didn't do anything?" I ask, worried.After what happened to Mac, what else could have easily happened, I can't believe anything good about Brumby.

"Harm, working in Hollywood, I've seen men do a lot of things and I know how to handle myself," she assures me.She shakes her head. "Then again, being a Marine, I'm sure Mac thought the same thing right up until he actually hit her."She actually sounds sympathetic and I can't help the look of surprise that crosses my face.

"What?Do you honestly think so little of me that you would think that I would believe Mac got what she deserved?" she retorts, then sighs."Sorry again.I didn't really mean that.I like Mac about as much as she likes me, but as another woman, I have nothing but sympathy for what she's gone through today.No woman deserves that and no matter how strong a woman is, it unfortunately can happen all too easily.Meet a man who says all the right words, does all the right things and before you know it, you're in too deep.And that's when you see his true colors."

There's something in the way she says the last part that makes me think."You?" I ask, surprised.To be honest, Renee and I have never talked much about our pasts unless something causes the topic to be brought up, like my discovery that I have a brother, which brought an explanation of my first trip to Russia and what had happened to my father there.

She shakes her head."Someone close to me," she replies without elaborating."Unfortunately, she married the bastard before she found out what a monster he is.And she came this close to dying before she found the courage to get out.It's. . . .you don't ever forget it when you see something like that and you pray every day that it won't ever be you someday."

"I'm sorry," I say, unable to think of anything else.

"She survived, which is the important thing," she continues."I just wish that she hadn't had to go through that just to realize how strong a person she can be.But from what I've seen of Mac, she's a survivor, too.And I guess it counts for something that she's got you to help her through this."

"I guess," I reply, not really sure of how much help that I can be."So. . . .I don't know.It seems kind of trite to ask if you'll be okay."

"I will be, eventually," she says, shrugging."It's not like I've never been dumped before, although I admit that you do mean more to me than most.But I'd like to think that I've got too much dignity to try to hold on to something that just isn't there.So, are you ready to get out of here?"

"Yeah, I want to. . . ." I trail off, not wanting to say to Renee, of all people, that I want to get back to Mac.But she knows.

"You want to get back to Mac," she finishes for me.

I don't reply as I motion to the waitress for our check.I hand the waitress some money, telling her to keep the change and I walk out with Renee, heading for our cars.She had suggested that we each drive our own cars here, telling me that she would drive home straight from the restaurant, but I think that she just didn't want to be in the same car with me, not that I can blame her after what I've done to her.

We stop at the back of her car and she turns to me."I guess this is goodbye," she says sadly."It hurts too much right now, but I'm sure that someday I'll look back and think that it was nice knowing you."

"I never meant to hurt you," I say sincerely."I hope that someday you will be able to believe that."

"Maybe someday," she say, leaning forward to kiss my cheek."Goodbye, Harmon Rabb."

She turns to walk around to the driver's door, but stops suddenly, dropping her keys."Harm. . . ." she says, her voice shaking.

"What is it?" I ask, following the direction of her gaze – to the tires of my SUV, all four of them slashed.

+++

"Thanks for the ride home," I tell Renee as she pulls up outside my building, letting the engine idle.After the police did their thing and asked their questions, I had the SUV towed to a garage so that new tires can be put on it.Unfortunately, I won't be able to pick it up until Monday afternoon.I guess Mac and I will have to take a taxi to her place and pick up her car – assuming that her tires haven't been slashed as well.

"Do you really think it was Mic?" she asks, studying me.I had told the police about Mic and what he had done to Mac when they had come to take my statement about the slashing.I shrug.

"I don't know," I answer honestly."I suppose it could have just been some random act."The police dusted for fingerprints, but didn't find any by the tires or on the hubcaps, so there's nothing to prove that it was Mic unless they turn up something while canvassing the neighborhood.

"But you don't really believe that," she concludes.

"No, I don't," I reply."I've felt all day like we've just been waiting for the other shoe to drop.But slashing my tires is really minor compared to what he's already done."

"So what are you going to do for transportation?" she asks.

"I guess I'll call a taxi and Mac and I will head to her place to pick up her car," I explain.We could take the subway, but if it is Mic, he had to have followed me to the restaurant and I don't want to expose us to anything by walking to the nearest Metro station.

"Harm, I'm already here," Renee counters."Why don't you just go upstairs, get Mac and I'll drive you over there?"I look at her, surprised.

"Are you sure?" I ask."I don't want to put you out."

"I offered, didn't I?" she replies."Anyway, if it is Mic, then Mac's tires have possibly been slashed as well and you'll need to go to a rental car place.Do you know what that will cost you in taxi fares?Now, go upstairs and get Mac."

"I'll be back in a few," I concede, getting out of the car.I'm not sure why Renee is doing this, especially after everything, but considering how badly she could have reacted to this news, I'm not about to knock her apparent good will.

When I enter my apartment, Mac's on the floor playing with Jingo.She looks up and smiles at me."I was beginning to worry a little that you were gone so long," she says, getting up and walking over to me.She puts her arms around my waist and I just hold her for a minute, closing my eyes as I try to forget for just a moment everything that's happened.

"Was it that bad?" she asks, pulling back slightly to look into my eyes.

"Not really," I admit."Renee took it better than I expected her to, considering how she found out.But something did happen. . . .when we left the restaurant, we discovered that my tires had been slashed."

"Mic?" she asks, her voice trembling.I pull her back into my arms.

"I don't know," I reply, rubbing her back, trying to offer what comfort I can."The police didn't find any fingerprints around the tires.They're going to ask around, see if anyone noticed anything.I did tell them what Mic did to you, so they are going to bring him in for questioning, but. . . ."

"It's not like he's likely to admit anything if he did do it," she concludes."So now what?"

"Renee's waiting for us downstairs," I tell her.At her surprised look, I explain, "She offered to drive us to your place to pick up your car, um. . . ."

"But if it was Mic, he may have slashed my tires as well," she points out.I nod reluctantly."Let me call my neighbor, ask her to check on my car.Then we'll know."She walks over and picks up the phone, hanging it back up after a minute."No one's home.I guess we'll have to wait and see."

Clasping her hand tightly in mine, I lead Mac outside, not dropping her hand until she gets into the back seat of the car.Renee turns and smiles weakly."Hello again, Mac," she says as I get into the front passenger seat.

"Hi," Mac says, obviously trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice.I turn and smile at her, hoping to offer her reassurances that I don't really feel.

With the exception of my telling Renee when and where to turn, we are silent on the drive to Georgetown, each wrapped up in our own thoughts.Finally, Renee pulls onto Mac's street and parks in front of a building a couple of buildings down from Mac's.As soon as Renee kills the engine, Mac lets out a small gasp and I turn to look across the street.The viewing angle isn't the greatest, but we can see enough of one tire to tell that Mac's tires have been slashed as well.

I turn to her and take her hand."Let's just go inside and call the police," I tell her."Mic's just moved up to the position of prime suspect."

Mac nods, taking a deep breath."Harm," she says hesitantly, "I think. . . .I want to call Detective Summers.I want to press charges against Mic for. . . .this."She gestures to the bruise on her face.She takes another breath and her voice is stronger as she adds, "I warned him not to come after us.I told him what would happen if. . . ." 

She stops suddenly and covers her mouth with her hand."Oh, God," she exclaims, opening her car door."He has a key to my apartment."She jumps out of the car and takes off for her building at a run.

"Mac, wait," I call out as Renee and I get out of the car, but if she hears me, she doesn't acknowledge it.I take off after her, barely aware of Renee following a few steps behind.I bypass the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time.I throw open the stairwell door and race for Mac's apartment, stopping in the open doorway.

Mac is standing in the middle of the living room, looking down at the floor, her whole body trembling.Strewn all over the floor are torn photos, apparently ripped from several photo albums which also litter the floor.As I step into the apartment, I get a good look at some of the photos, recognizing many of them.They're photos of the two of us, taken at various times in the last four years.I see part of one that looks like it was taken at a JAG softball game, another at the airfield with 'Sarah', still another taken at the NATO ball a few months after we met.

She sinks to the floor, picking up one photo and staring at it.I come up behind her and fall to my knees, pulling her back into my arms as I pry the torn photo from her fingers.It's of the two of us, me in my dress whites and Mac in a light blue dress, holding baby AJ in her arms.It was taken after his christening, the last photo taken of the two of us before I returned to flying.

I hear a gasp from the doorway and I turn my head to see Renee standing there, her hand covering her mouth as she looks on in shock."Call the police," I instruct her.After a moment, she nods and moves to the desk to make the call.

"Oh, God, Harm," Mac whispers brokenly as I rock her in my arms."When is this all going to end?"

"I wish I knew," I whisper, burying my face in her hair."I wish to God that I knew."

+++

It's started raining again.It storms, then the clouds break, then they roll in again.Much the same way that my life has been going the last two days.Once I had found the bliss that I've always craved in Harm's embrace, I honestly thought that once we started talking to each other and working through the issues that had kept us apart, that everything would suddenly be looking up for us.I'd break it off with Mic, he'd break it off with Renee and then we'd live happily ever after.Sounds like some kind of fairy tale, doesn't it?But I should have known better.This time has ended up no different than any other time in my life.Just when I start believing in the good things again, something comes along to bring the rain back into my life.

I sit in a chair by the window, resting my head against the cool glass of the window, willing myself to remain strong, to not give into the tears that are threatening.Harm's on the other side of the room, conversing with the police, but every so often I can feel his eyes on me, feel his concern across the room.I can just imagine what's going through his mind right now.He's blaming himself.But who knows for what.For not speaking up about his feelings when he had the chance in Sydney?For just standing by when Mic came to the States to claim me?For allowing himself to let go at what now appears to be the worst possible time?He probably blames himself for all of it.But what he won't let himself realize is that it's a false blame.

I'm the one who wouldn't listen and wait for him when he wanted me to.I'm the one who took an engagement ring from a man I didn't really love only because I'd been rejected by the one that I did.I'm the one who stood by and let Mic claim me at the Surface Warfare Ball like I some prize or trophy.I'm the one who didn't stand up to him when he started acting controlling.I'm the one who dragged my feet for nine months on a decision when I already knew deep down what my answer should be.I'm the one who's at fault here.

I look at the direction my life has taken those nine months since Sydney and I don't even recognize the woman living that life.What happened to the nineteen year old who managed to turn her back on alcohol with her uncle's love and encouragement?What happened to the young woman who vowed to make it in a man's world as an officer in the United States Marine Corps.What happened to the officer who endured the hard work and sleepless nights of law school?What happened to the woman who's always been able to pull herself up by her bootstraps?I don't know what has happened to her and it scares me that I'm not sure how to get her back.

"Here you go, Mac," I hear Renee say.I turn away from the window to find her standing over me, a coffee cup in each hand."I took the liberty of putting some coffee on.Harm told me how you like yours."

"Thanks," I reply weekly, accepting the mug she's holding out to me.I take a cautious sip of the scalding liquid as she grabs another chair from the dining table and pulls it near me, sitting down to sip her own drink.

After a long moment's silence, Renee asks in a sympathetic tone, "How are you doing, Mac?"Even after how well things have gone with her today, there's still a part of me that's surprised by the question and the concern behind it.I'd never thought much of her before, but she's really surprised me today.In fact, I would have thought she would have taken the breakup of her and Harm's relationship worse than Mic would have taken his and mine.That just goes to show how much I misjudged her – and misjudged Mic.

"I don't know," I say quietly, staring down into the brown liquid as if I might find life's answers there."I still keep expecting to wake up and find this has all been some kind of nightmare.I'd never expected Mic to act like this.Then again, looking back, I guess the warning signs were there all along."Once I started talking, the words just kind of tumbled out.I guess I need someone outside of this thing with Mic to listen to me.I just never thought I would feel comfortable talking to Renee Peterson.Maybe I'll give that psychologist that Detective Summers recommended a call.Although I've always preferred doing for myself, I don't know if I can do it this time.Maybe I need someone to talk to who is outside this entire situation.Maybe both Harm and I do.

"The warning signs always are there, I guess," Renee agrees sadly."But when you love. . . .or care about someone, you don't want to see anything that will destroy the image of them you're carrying around in your mind.I know Andrea didn't. . . ." she trails off, caught up in the memories of this mysterious Andrea.When we were waiting for Harm to come home earlier, she had said enough to lead me to believe that either she or someone she knew had been abused by a significant other.

She takes another sip of coffee and explains, her voice soft, "Andrea was my best friend growing up.I was an only child and she was like the sister I'd always wanted.We were even roommates in college and often double dated.Our senior year, she met Mike.He was sweet and charming and appeared to be head over heals for her.They married two weeks after college graduation and for a while, their life seemed like a fairy tale."

"So how did it all go wrong?" I ask, curious.This is obviously painful for her and it explains a lot about her reaction to what happened to me.Something tells me that if it weren't for the bruises I'm sporting, she probably would have taken the news of mine and Harm's relationship a lot worse.But because she apparently feels bad for what I've been through, she's keeping her negative feelings to herself – at least as far as I know, since I don't know what she said to Harm when they had dinner.

"It was a combination of things," she continues and I'm not even surprised that her eyes are filling with tears."There were cutbacks where he worked.He was able to stay on, but at a lower salary.His mother had terminal cancer and Andrea found out she was pregnant.At first, it was just yelling – yelling about the lack of money, the pain of dealing with his mother's illness, how they couldn't afford a baby.She said that the first time he hit her, it was after she came home from a shopping trip to buy some things for the baby.He yelled at her about spending money on a baby they couldn't afford, then he hit her.That first time, she said it had surprised them both and he was instantly apologetic."

"I think it's safe to say that doesn't apply to Mic," I comment, gesturing to the trashed room and the police photographing it.I notice Harm glance in our direction and I force a smile to let him know that everything's okay with me and Renee.He nods, forcing a smile of his own in return, and returns to his conversation with the police detective he's with.

"But he wasn't apologetic enough because it happened again," Renee reveals, setting her now empty coffee mug on the window sill."He lent some money to his parents to help with his mother's doctor bills, money they couldn't really afford to give away, then he wanted her to have an abortion because they couldn't afford the baby.She refused and he gave her a black eye and split lip before storming out of the house.When he returned the next day, he dragged her to an abortion clinic, but she was so hysterical that the doctors refused to perform an abortion since she obviously was not consenting.So he took her home and beat her again.It was her first trip to the hospital because of a beating and she ended up losing the baby.When I visited her at the hospital, she told me that she'd fallen down the stairs.But when I went to the house to see Mike, a lamp was overturned in the living room and stuff strewn all over the floor.When I saw his bruised knuckles, I knew what had happened.But she refused to leave him.She said he was under a lot of stress because of making less money and his mother's illness.She even said that she should have gone along when he wanted her to have the abortion."

"You know what's scary?" I muse, staring out the window at the falling rain again."If Mic had done this while we were still together, I can't honestly say that I would have walked out either.My mother was abused by my father until she left on my fifteenth birthday and I'm afraid that I might have been like her and stayed.I didn't even want to press charges against Mic initially."I may be a mean drunk like my father, but I'm also apparently an emotionally needy woman who has a hard time standing up the the men in her personal life.I appear to have inherited the worst characteristics from both my parents.

"But you are pressing charges now," she points out. "You've got the strength to stand up for yourself.It took another year and a near-fatal beating before Andrea found that strength inside herself.After Mike was convicted of attempted murder and sent to prison for thirty years, she put her life back together and eventually met a truly nice man whom she married after her divorce was final.They now live in Pennsylvania with their two kids."

"So there can be a happy ending," I whisper, pressing my palm flat against the cold glass."When I saw my mother when my father died, it struck me how – I don't know – empty her life seemed.She had escaped my father but she didn't really seem any happier."

"But you've got Harm," she points out and I turn back to her, stunned.Even if she's keeping her true feelings about her and me and Harm to herself and is trying to be sympathetic towards me, to actually hear her sound so accepting of the reality of the situation is beyond surprising.She just shrugs off my shock."I'm realistic enough to understand and accept the reality of what's going on here.I. . . ."

Anything else she might have said is interrupted by Harm's approach.He places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently, giving Renee a weak smile.I reach up and curl my fingers around his, needing this comforting contact."The police about finished up?" I ask, anxious to get out of here.I'd love to go back to Harm's, crawl into bed and forget the rest of the world while in his arms.But the rest of the world just won't forget about us.

"Yeah," he replies."They'd like to keep a man posted here, just in case Mic decides to return."I can tell from his tone that he'd like to be the one lying in wait for Mic, but that idea scares the hell out of me.The last time they went toe to toe, Harm ended up with various bruises and two broken ribs and that was without anger fueling their fists.Before, it was mostly about competition over the same woman, just as Bud said it was.This time it's about a whole lot more than just that.

"I don't have a problem with that," I tell him."Anything else?"

"No, just that the DC police are putting out an APB on Mic," he says."Detective Summers called one of the other detectives and and let him know that she's questioning his co-workers just in case he went to one of them for help.They're also going to check out his usual hangouts – McMurphy's and places like that.And they gave me a number to call if we think of any place he might go or if we hear from him.They've also got a car staking out his apartment."

I nod mutely, trying not to think about Mic coming after us again.But I'd be a fool to think that he's just going to slink away into the night.He didn't after the events of this morning, did he?It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop.I just pray that the police get to him before he can do any more damage.

"So, are you two ready to get out of here?" Renee asks.

"Yes," I reply quickly.I just want to put this all behind me – at least for a little while, until the next storm in my life breaks.

+++

"So is there anything in particular you want to do?" Harm asks as we enter his apartment.I breathe a sigh of relief that nothing happened on our way to pick up a rental car and on our way back here and that nothing unexpected was waiting for us on our return.I don't know how much more I could take today.

"Can you just hold me?" I ask, holding my arms out.He walks into them without hesitation and I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head against his chest, breathing deeply. In his arms, surrounded by his scent, I can almost forget.Almost.

He leads me towards the couch, sitting down and pulling me down across his lap while his hands stroke my back.I close my eyes and bury my face against his neck.We're silent for several minutes, then Harm finally asks, "How are you doing?"

"I'm managing," I reply."I've got you and that makes this. . . .not easier, but at least I know I'm not alone."

"And you never will be," he vows, entwining his fingers with mine.He's silent for a moment and I can tell that he's thinking, then he adds, "Mac, even if it weren't for this. . . .our new relationship, I would still be there for you through this.I know that given my behavior of the last year and a half, that may sound pretty incredible, but I stayed back because I thought. . . .well, if Brumby was the one you wanted to be with, I loved you enough not to stand in the way of that.But all you had to do was call and I would have come running."

And he always has been there for me, even when he barely knew me.Even when I tried to go to him when Chris first came to Washington, if I had been upfront about the seriousness of the situation, he would have dropped everything to help me out.But I didn't want to interfere in whatever was going on with him and Bobbi.Just like he didn't want to interfere with Mic and me.God, what a pair we make.To distract myself from that train of thought, I comment, "That last line, that sounds like something from a song."

"A paraphrase, but yeah, it is," he replies, wrapping his arms around me just a little tighter."It's called 'You've Got A Friend'."He pauses for a moment, then begins singing softly.

_When you're down and troubled_

_And you need some love and care_

_And nothing, nothing is going right_

_Close your eyes and think of me _

_And soon I will be there_

_To brighten up even your darkest night_

_ _

_You just call out my name_

_And you know wherever I am_

_I'll come running to see you again_

_Winter, spring, summer or fall_

_All you have to do is call_

_And I'll be there_

_You've got a friend_

_ _

_If the sky above you_

_Grows dark and full of clouds_

_And that old north wind begins to blow_

_Keep your head together, baby_

_And call my name out loud_

_Soon you'll hear me knocking at your door_

_ _

_You just call out my name_

_And you know wherever I am_

_I'll come running to see you again_

_Winter, spring, summer or fall_

_All you have to do is call_

_And I'll be there_

_ _

_Ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?_

_People can be so cold, oh yeah_

_They'll hurt you and desert you_

_And take your soul if you let them_

_But don't you let them_

_ _

_You just call out my name_

_And you know wherever I am_

_I'll come running to see you again_

_Winter, spring, summer or fall_

_All you have to do is call_

_And I'll be there_

_You've got a friend_

_You've got a friend_

_You've got a friend_

As his voice drifts away, I sigh.I just wish it could be that easy as having a friend to stand up for me."Harm?" I ask hesitantly.

"What is it?" he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"I appreciate more than you'll ever know your being here for me," I begin, searching for the right words."But I think it's going to take a lot more than your love and support to get through this.I know this is going to sound pretty incredible, but when I was talking to Renee back at my apartment – and here, earlier – it felt so good to have someone to talk to who was outside the whole situation with me and Mic.I don't know if that makes any sense.Maybe it's that she doesn't really know Mic and can be objective without her own perceptions of him coloring her judgment.Or maybe it's that she had a friend go through an abusive situation."

"At dinner, she mentioned that she had known someone who had been abused," he reveals, "but she didn't say much about it."

"She was talking about it back at my place," I say, respecting Renee's privacy by not saying more.If she had wanted to, she could have explained the entire story to Harm herself."Anyway, it scares me that I have this habit of picking men who are bad for me – even John Farrow, as good a man as he is, was a bad choice – and when I was talking to Renee, it occurred to me that maybe I'm turning into my mother.If I hadn't already been ready to walk away from him, it terrifies me to think that I might have just excused his behavior and stayed with him."

Harm looks like he's about to say something, so I raise a hand to silence him."Please, let me finish," I request.He nods and I continue, "I was thinking. . . .you know that Detective Summers gave me the name of that counselor while we were at the hospital and I think that I want to make an appointment.And Harm, I don't know how you're going to feel about this, but I'd like you to go with me.I think we both need some outside help to get through this."

There's a heavy silence between us and for about half a second, I wish that I could take back those last words, but then reason prevails.Harm's not dealing with this very well, maybe even worse than I am due to his obsessive personality.As many bad choices as I've made in my life concerning men, I don't want Harm to become another one because he won't stop obsessing about this situation."Mac, I don't. . . . well, I've never really liked the idea of talking to a professional.Mom tried to get me to talk to someone when I was a teenager, thinking it might help me deal with my resentment of Frank, so maybe that's why I never cared for the idea," he explains."I thought the psychologist was going to try to convince me that I needed to accept the fact that my father was dead."

I suppose I can understand that, but I've got to stick to my guns on this one.There's just too much at stake."Please, Harm," I plead, my eyes filling with tears.I turn slightly in his lap so I can look him straight in the eye."I really want this. . . .us to work and I'm afraid that this whole situation could ultimately tear us apart sooner or later.Please, Harm, for us."

"I know this probably isn't the answer that you want to hear, but could I have a little bit of time to think about it?" he asks."I'm not going to stop you from going yourself.In fact, I encourage it.But I need to consider this.It wouldn't do you any good if I'm not a willing participant."

Since I know that he has a point, I can respect his desire for time to think.At least he didn't say no outright."I can live with that," I say, trying to keep the reluctance out of my voice.I know it's probably a lot to ask of Harm, but what might happen if we both don't get help scares the hell out of me like almost nothing else has."I'll call first thing Monday morning and make an appointment for myself and if you decide that you want to go with me. . . . I'll just let them know there might be two of us coming."

"Okay," he agrees.I try unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn and he notices."Ready to go to bed?I know it's still a little early, but it's been a long day."

Yes, it has been a long day and one that I am very ready to put behind me.I cross my fingers, praying that tomorrow will be better."As long as you come with me and promise to hold me all night long and not let me go," I say.

"That's a given," he replies, giving me a soft kiss as he stands, sweeping me up in his arms for the second time today.I close my eyes as I bury my face against his neck, imagining that I'm a princess in some fairy tale and he's my white knight come to rescue me.I just hope that we can eventually find the 'Happily ever after.'

+++

I shift sleepily, dimly aware of a ringing in the background that is calling me from the land of dreams.I reach out and feel the firm muscles of Harm's back.I realize that the ringing must have been the phone and that he turned away from me to answer it so that he didn't disturb me.With him facing away from me, my sleep-clouded brain can't make out his soft words.After a moment, he hangs up the phone and turns back to me and I snuggle back into his arms, never opening my eyes.

"Who's on the phone?" I mumble against his chest.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he apologizes, clasping his hand around mine which is resting just over his heart.

"S'okay.I heard the phone ringing.So who's it?" I ask again even as I begin drifting back to sleep in his arms.

"Just a wrong number," he replies quietly."Go back to sleep."

"Hmm," I murmur sleepily as he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it.I smile softly, content for the moment with the peace that I'm finding in his arms.

+++

To be continued. . . .


	3. Part 3

1 HOUR LATER

I stare up at the ceiling, unable to find peace in slumber.I wonder how Mac manages to do it, looking so content and restful curled up against me in sleep.I'd hate to think that it's because so much has happened in her life that she's used to events like what happened today.I brush a lock of hair off her face and study her relaxed expression.I wish that I could find that kind of peaceful rest.

I try to concentrate on the feeling of the beautiful woman in my arms, but my mind keeps stubbornly drifting back to that phone call earlier.Depending on how I decide to handle it, all this could be over soon, one way or the other.I just wish that I knew what to do.

I know what I want to do and, in another time and place, I would probably go with my first instinct.But there's so much to consider.What would Mac think?Would she understand or would she only see my anger dictating my actions in the same way that Mic's anger led to all this?Could the resolution to our current situation mark the end of us as well before we've really had a chance to begin?

I think those concerns are the only thing staying my hand – the fear of what Mac will think, of what my actions might ultimately mean for the two of us.I've already managed once to nearly destroy our relationship because of my actions.It would kill me to do that again.God, could she right?Might we need professional help if we are to have any chance of getting through this together.That idea scares me, too, as much as anything else about this situation does.I know that I should be willing to do absolutely anything and everything to hold us together, but I don't know if I can do that.

I keep remembering when Mom tried to get me to talk to someone when she was preparing to marry Frank.I could imagine everything that a therapist would say.'Let it go.Accept that your father is gone and not coming back.Move on with your life and let your mother move on with hers.'All that I would hear would be everything that I didn't want to hear, simply variations of what I would eventually hear years later. . . .

. . . .when the Navy ordered me to see a shrink in the aftermath of my crash.'Let it go.Accept that Mace's death wasn't your fault and that there was nothing you could do to prevent the crash.Move on with your life and your career.'Eventually, I did make my peace with what had happened and with Mace's death, but it wasn't because of anything any psychiatrist said.Only getting back into the cockpit and ultimately saving Thomas Boone's life helped me to begin laying those demons to rest.

What will I hear now?'Let it go.Accept that Brumby's actions and Mac's suffering aren't your fault and that you couldn't prevent his lashing out.Move on with your life and your relationship with Mac.'But it is my fault.As I look back on the last four years, I see so many things that could have made a difference.There are so many 'what ifs' and 'if onlys' haunting me, taunting me at every corner.If just one tiny thing had been different, anywhere along the line, maybe this train wreck that is currently our lives could have been prevented.

Careful not to disturb Mac, I slowly slide out of bed and head to my desk, sitting down and staring at the phone for a long moment.I reach for the phone then pull my hand back, clenching it into a fist, pressing it against my forehead.No, I can't do this.It's not worth the price that I would pay.Nothing would be worth that price.

But this has to end.I have to end it.It was my actions that started us down this path, so I have to be the one who puts an end to it.I reach out again and this time I do pick up the phone.Checking Caller ID, I dial the last number that is shown on the display, quickly, before I can change my mind.

It seems to take forever, enough time for me to contemplate hanging up, but the phone actually only rings twice before being answered by a sleepy voice on the other end, "'Lo?"

I take a deep breath before saying softly, with a worried glance towards the bedroom, "It's me."

There's a cold, sickening laugh on the other end and my blood runs to ice in my veins."I figured I'd be hearing from you," Mic says and my free hand clenches into a fist.Too bad he's not standing in front of me right now.Maybe Mac will forgive me just long enough to defend me and keep me out of Leavenworth for what I want to do to the smug bastard."You're so predictable that way, ready to defend your whore.Tell me, have you been screwing her the entire time?Maybe she committed adultery with you, too, when she was still married to her husband."

"Neither Mac nor I owe you any justification for our actions," I respond tightly.I know that Mac didn't tell me word for word what Mic had said to her and I kept telling myself that I didn't want to know.But if what he's saying to me is any indication of what he said to her, then the bastard had better pray to God that I never get my hands around his neck.And his mentioning Mac's marriage reminds me why I've never been able to stand Brumby in the first place.Mac should have done a lot more than just slap him after her trial.And how the hell did she get from that point in time to trying to convince herself to fall in love with him?Unfortunately, I know all too well the answer to that question.It was me.I was the one who had pushed her into Brumby's arms and into denying herself."And how does anything that you *think* that we've done justify what you did to Mac, what you're continuing to do to her?You claimed to love her so much, but how can you hurt her like this?"

"How can I hurt her?" he exclaims, laughing as if I just said the funniest thing in the world."Let's see, I offered her everything in the world and I had it thrown back in my face.Not to mention the fact that she's worn my ring for the last nine months.She was going to be my wife."

"So you think because of all that she owes you something?" I demand, incredulous.If I hadn't thought before that Brumby was deluded. . . .God, what if Mac had actually said 'yes' to the bastard before she'd manage to come to her senses?I can imagine this being a whole lot worse if the ring had been residing on her left hand and I close my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose.Thank God for tiny favors."She never said 'yes'.Wearing an engagement ring on your right hand doesn't make you engaged."

"She would have said 'yes'," he insists and I take a calming breath, for all the good that it will do me.I don't know if I can calm down.But he's not in front of me and the only thing lashing out at this moment will accomplish is waking Mac up and I don't want to do that.She can't know about this, not yet, not until it's all over, not until she can do nothing to stop me."But we both know why she didn't.She would have said 'yes' if only you'd stayed away from her.But you've never liked me and not only did you have to beat me in court, you couldn't stand the fact that I had her and you didn't.So you just had to do something about that, didn't you?"

This is getting us nowhere and I don't intend to sit here all night and listen to his sick delusions."What do you want, Mic?" I ask in a harsh whisper.

"We settle this," he says, a sneer evident in his voice."You and me, just like in Sydney."

I doubt this will be anything like Sydney.That was about one-upmanship and simple – if you could call it that – competition, both at work and with Mac.This is about revenge, on both our parts.He wants to make me pay for what he sees as my stealing Mac away from him and I want him to pay for what he did to Mac yesterday morning.Regardless of the reasons, I have to do this."When and where?" I ask, already trying to figure out how to get out of the apartment to meet him without Mac realizing what I'm doing until it's too late.If she were to figure it out and show up, the results could be disastrous.

"Zero six hundred," he says immediately."There's an alley at the corner of 7th and F Streets.Know the area?"He's obviously got this all thought out, or he thinks that he does.I know the area, which is not that far from here.He gets me to a not-so-good area of town, roughs me up, maybe even tries to kill me and thinks that it will get blamed on random street violence.Does he really think the police wouldn't suspect him after everything that's happened?But his overconfidence gives me an advantage, even if it's only a small one, and I need every advantage that I can claim against him.I just hope that it is going to be enough against him.

"Agreed," I respond.I hope that Mac won't be up by the time that I have to leave.If she is, maybe I can say that I'm going to get her breakfast and want to surprise her with something, so she should stay at the apartment.I don't know if I can pull that one off though.She knows me too well and often can see right through me.I just have to pray that she's still asleep.I just have to pray.

"I look forward to seeing you there," he tells me."Although I don't think you'll enjoy it very much."

"Oh, I'm looking forward to this," I retort just before clicking off the phone.I stare at the phone for a long moment before setting it back down on the base.Just about three hours and this will all be over.I just have to wonder if it's the kind of over that I can live with.Taking a deep breath as I try to push those grim thoughts from my mind, I open the center desk drawer and pull out my gun and an extra clip.I don't think I can go back to sleep now, so I strip the gun down to clean it and as I do, a conversation from the past replays in my mind.

'Mind if I strip it down for you?'I manage a grim smile at the memory.God, everything was so much easier back then.Brumby was around at that time, still relatively new to JAG and he hadn't really insinuated himself into our lives yet.Back then, it was usually me and Mac against the world, like when we thought Clay had died and she insisted on staying here to keep an eye on me since Palmer was on the loose.I had known that she hadn't wanted to be alone, any more than I really did, but I didn't say a word.In those days, words were often unnecessary between us.Or maybe that's always been our problem.Maybe it's that we didn't talk when we really needed to or that we never could figure out when we did need to say the words.

What if I had taken the chance that night and taken her into my arms, the way I'd wanted to?She'd looked so vulnerable and mournful and I'd wanted nothing more than to hold her, comfort her, make love to her.But I hesitated and the moment was lost, like so many of the moments between us the last four years, lost and never to be recaptured.

I don't hear a sound except for the clink of metal as I take apart my pistol, no footsteps sound on the wood floor, but I feel her approach.I have always been able to feel her presence, even before we admitted our feelings for each other.She's been so much a part of me that, even before I could bring myself to admit that, when I was foolish enough to separate myself from here, it felt as if I was missing a vital part of myself. 

Act cool, Rabb.I'm sure if she had heard anything, she'd already be giving it to me with both barrels without a second thought and without letting me get a word in edgewise."Can't sleep?" I ask, not looking up from my the cold gun in my hands.

"Seems to be an epidemic of that tonight," Mac says, leaning against the edge of the desk, facing towards me, her hand on my shoulder.She squeezes gently, offering comfort, but I can't tear my mind away from how much what I'm about to do may hurt her."Do you really think Mic might come here and try something, even with the police making sweeps of the area?"I look up to see her nodding towards my pistol.She assumes that I'm keeping the weapon handy in case Mic decides to stop by, just like that night when we were on guard against Clark Palmer.

"I don't want to take any chances," I reply, noting her weary expression.She looked so much more at peace when she was sleeping.Again, I mentally damn Mic Brumby to hell for doing this to her."He's obviously not going to stop and the police haven't picked him up yet.I wouldn't put it past him to be able to get past them."Not entirely accurate, but a valid concern nonetheless.

"So what happens if he does show up?" she asks, her fingers gently massaging my tense muscles.I wish that I could find it in myself to forget about Mic for just a few moments and lose myself to her loving touch."Are you just going to shoot him?"My eyes widen in surprise at the blunt question.Would it really matter to her all that much if I did?And what bothers her more – the idea that I might shoot someone or that Mic might be the one who gets shot?I'm scared that she still can't stop herself from caring about him somewhere down deep inside.

"I'll do whatever I have to do," I insist.I look down at the gun in my hands, pondering what to say without saying too much."It just want this over.He's hurt you so much. . . ."

"I'm not the only one who hurting, Harm," she points out, gently prying my fingers from the pistol and setting it on top of the desk to the side.She then settles onto my lap and drapes her arms over my shoulders."You don't have to pretend that you're okay because you feel some macho need to be strong for me.I know you too well.I know you're hurting.We need. . . .I'm sorry.Forget about that.But we need to try to take our minds off this, at least for a little while."She shakes her head and I imagine that she was going to bring up the idea of going to the shrink again.But it's just after three in the morning and we're both too tired and too keyed up for this discussion.But we will have to discuss it, no matter how much I do not want to.I know that.I think it's one of the few things that I do know for sure right now.

"I know," I say sadly, looking down at my lap, hoping that she understands my acknowledgement of what she's trying to say.I look back up at her and manage a weak smile."We'll talk about that later, promise."

"Thank you," she replies, pressing one hand against my cheek.I close my eyes, trying again to concentrate on the sensations her touch generates in me.Please, God, let us survive this.I don't know what I'll do if I lose her again, not now that I know what it's like to be with her."Why don't we go back to bed and try to get some sleep?"

I open my eyes, taking hold of her hand still flat against my cheek and our eyes lock.For a moment that seems to stretch into eternity, we just stare at each other, our breath caught in our throat.I'm not sure who makes the first move, all I'm aware of is that one moment we were just staring at each other and in the next our mouths are fused together as hands move roughly over clothing and exposed skin, desperate to touch and to taste.Does she feel it too, the desperation of the moment, as if these might be our last like this?

I stand, pulling her with me, intending to take her to the bedroom and back to my bed, but the aching need unleashed proves too powerful for both of us and we somehow end up against my desk, pulling and yanking at the cotton barriers between us.

My mouth descends on hers hungrily again and somewhere in the back of my mind it occurs to me that I should take it easy, be tender with her, that I might scare her after everything that's happened.I pull my lips away from hers and gently nuzzle her cheek, intending to slow down and savor, until I feel her hot breath against my ear and hear her husky voice, sounding as full of desperation as I feel."Harm, I don't want it slow," she pleads."I trust you."

Why can't we just forget the rest of the world and stay like this forever, for the eternity that she wants from me?In the heat of our passion, I can willingly promise her anything that she wants of me.But promises can be fleeting, especially in the cold, harsh glare of our reality.

Gasping for breath, our passion spent, I wrap my arms tight around her and collapse back onto the chair, pulling her with me.I brush my lips against her damp hair, tears stinging my eyes as I fight not to break down."I love you," I whisper, my voice shaking.She lifts her head up just enough to meet my eyes and in the soft moonlight, I can see the glistening wetness of tears filling her own eyes.

"I know," she replies simply, her fingers brushing away a stray tear from my cheek.I take her hand and press my lips to her fingertips, savoring the feel of her soft skin against mine."I love you, too.And it will be okay."

I wish it were that simple, that I could believe her assurances.Maybe if I close my eyes and wish hard enough.In the depths of my mind, wrapped up in her arms, her scent, her taste, I think that I can believe almost anything.If only it were that simple.

+++

TWO HOURS LATER

I reach out to brush her cheek, but my hand stops just inches above her soft skin.I want so much to touch, but it might wake her.She shifts in her sleep, one hand curling around the pillow beneath her head, the sheet moving with her, revealing soft curves."I love you, Sarah," I whisper, amazed at how easily the words come to me now, syllables that I stumbled and stuttered over for four years.I just hope when this is all over that I haven't lost her forever, that she will understand why had I have to do what I'm about to do and give me another chance.

Pulling my hand away, clenching it into a fist, I force myself to turn and walk away.As I leave the apartment, carefully pulling the door silently closed behind me, it occurs to me that I was finally able to follow the Admiral's advice.I was able to leave without looking back.

+++

THIRTY MINUTES LATER

The moonlight's gone now and the clouds have moved back in.If I had the desire to really consider it, I might find some symmetry in the weather, in the way that the storms come and go, much as the storms have been coming and going in our life this weekend.Do I have the right to call it that?Do we even have a life together?Can we have one when all this is over?

I stare down at the ground, my features distorted in the eerie glow from the street light above me and the puddle of rain water at my feet.It's like looking at a reflection of my life.I'd like my life to be so perfect, so orderly and I struggle and fight with everything that I have in me to make it so.But more often than not, my life is like my reflection, distorted and out of focus.Once, I would have thought that finally having Mac in my life, sharing my life, would bring everything into focus for me. I once thought the same thing about flying and about finding the truth about my father's fate.

My head lifts at the sound of a car slowing nearby, my movements so steady and smooth.It's almost like a calm has settled over me, the serenity that comes from knowing that this will all be over soon.As I watch the street, waiting to see the familiar figure coming towards me, one hand reaches behind my back, seeking the cold comfort of the gun tucked into my jeans.As long as he never comes anywhere near Mac again, I can handle anything that might and will happen here in the pre-dawn darkness.I just have to keep telling myself that and then maybe I'll stop believing it.

Finally, he's coming towards me, his features cast in shadows, his measured steps splashing and echoing in the cold, dark and wet alley.He stops a few feet away from me, a satisfied smile on his face, the two of us looking for all the world like two gunfighters meeting at high noon.But I'm not so sure that the good guy will get to keep the girl this time.

"Hello, Harm," he says, sounding for all the world like we're two acquaintances passing each other by on the street.

"Brumby," I say, even that single word sticking in my throat.I didn't come here to talk to him.

"So you managed to drag yourself away from the arms of our whore," he sneers.He looks so smug and I realize what he is doing.He's trying to get to me, but he won't understand until it's too late how badly that strategy is backfiring on him.He's only strengthening my resolve."That's what she is, isn't she?Just a few days ago, she was sharing my bed and now she's sharing yours.Or was she always going back and forth between us before all this?I always knew she was a hot little bitch, but I'd never thought she was so hot for it that it took two men to satisfy her needs."

He laughs, a cold, hard sound that grates my every nerve and I clench the hand behind my back into a fist and take a deep breath, reminding myself to remain calm.Bastard.He will pay for this, for everything that he's saying about Mac, but I have to bide my time, lull him into a false sense of confidence.For now I have to remain calm and turn the other cheek.What is they tell children to control their anger, count to ten?One.Two.Three.Four.Five.Six.Seven.Eight.Nine.Ten.It's not working.How about trying another language?Uno.Dos.Très. . . .

Without warning, Mic suddenly charges me, lowering his head and barreling into my stomach with all the force of a battering ram.My fingers tighten around the grip of my gun and I pull it from behind my back as we hit the wet ground, but he brings his balled fist down hard on my wrist, forcing the weapon from my grasp as an involuntary cry of pain escapes me. 

In the back of my mind, it occurs to me that I'll need to have it x-rayed, but I force the thought from my mind and concentrate on rolling to the side as Mic attempts to bring his clench fists down on my stomach.I get out of the way just in time and take a small satisfaction in his own cry as his fists hit asphalt with a loud crack.It's a tiny start in making up for the pain that he has and will continue to put Mac through.I scramble for my gun on hands and knees, ignoring the burning sensation in my wrist, but Mic comes down on top of me and forces me flat on the ground, pinning my injured wrist under me and forcing my forehead into the rough asphalt but this time, I manage to bite back the pain.

Mic quickly climbs to his feet, kicking my gun out of the way in the process.I start to get up, favoring my wrist, shaking my head to clear it, contemplating a new plan of attack taking into account that I've pretty much lost my dominant hand, a plan that will allow me to at least hold my own.As I turn towards him, my eyes widen at the cold glint of a steel blade staring back at me.

"I wonder how many people get knifed around here everyday," Mic muses, holding the knife steady just inches from my face."Remember when you car was stolen?It became so obvious that you were playing with fire living in this neighborhood.I don't think many people are going to think twice about finding you facedown in an alley, your wallet gone.Just another robbery gone so terrible wrong like dozens of others in DC every day."

I almost smile.It's a small comfort to know that I'm still one step ahead of him.My wallet is safely back at my apartment, sitting on my desk or maybe on the floor with the other things that got knocked off the desk a few hours ago.Regardless, considering that Mic's wanted by the police already for assault and vandalism, even the dumbest cop could connect the dots on this one and the ones that I'd met in the course of yesterday's events are anything but.

I relax in the face of the sharp blade and now I do smile.His expression twists into any angry snarl in the face of my calm countenance."What?" he demands.I merely smile wider as Mic is grabbed from behind in a chokehold, a strong hand closing over his right wrist, forcing him to drop the knife as sirens echo in the distance, growing louder with each second.Barely ten seconds have passed, Mic gasping for breath as an arm squeezes his throat just enough to making breathing difficult, when the first police car pulls into the alley, breaks squealing.Two officers jump out, guns drawn, and Mic is pushed into their arms and swiftly cuffed as his rights are read to him.The hand that was just restraining Mic reaches out for me and I take it with a grateful sigh.

"Thank God you had the sense to call me," the Admiral says as he pulls me to my feet, the hand moving to my elbow to steady me as a wave of dizziness passes over me.I nod grimly, grateful as well that I'd made that call from my cell phone as I was driving here.I honestly don't know how this would have turned out otherwise, whether it's the question of if I could have survived Mic's assault to whether I could have stopped myself from killing Mic if given the chance.I needed the Admiral to protect me from myself as much as from Mic.

He slowly leads me to his rental and helps me lean against it, staring into my eyes by the light of an overhead street lamp."We should probably get you to Bethesda," he suggests, "get you checked for a concussion as well as getting that wrist x-rayed."

"Mac," I mumble.Now that it's over, I need so much to see her, to hold her and to tell her everything.I need to see the look in her eyes when she hears that it's finally over and hear her reassurances that everything will be okay.

"After you called me," the Admiral says, a steadying hand still on me as I slump against the car, "I called Lieutenant Roberts and told him to go over to your place and stay with her until he hears from me.He's under orders not to let her out of his sight."

I manage to laugh at the idea of Bud trying to get Mac to stay put."I'm not sure that your orders are going to have much effect on her right now," I explain in response to his puzzled glance.

"I believe the Lieutenant is being accompanied by his wife and son, who were up rather early this morning," he responds."She'll stay put."

I'm not sure how Mac will feel about everyone suddenly finding out what's happened, but maybe it's a good thing.Beside preparing her for the questions she will face tomorrow or the next day when she returns to work, maybe it will help her to be able to talk to another woman, a friend this time, not a police detective and not Renee, no matter how sympathetic.

Detective Summers walks over to us, her hands on her hips."I don't suppose it would do any good to explain to you military types about the concept of 'taking the law into your own hands'," she says, sounding more bemused than angry."It's a good thing that the cops sweeping your neighborhood got suspicious when they saw your car gone from your building."

"I guess luck's finally shining down on me," I mutter somewhat sarcastically, rubbing my forehead, brushing away grit and gravel.

"Detective, can we continue this discussion at Bethesda?" the Admiral asks, helping me into his car.Even in my current daze, I wonder how the 6'3" Admiral manages to drive this sardine can.I haven't been this cramped since the Watertown.I have to scrunch down in the seat just to rest my aching head against the headrest."I've got an officer who probably has at least a mild concussion and a broken wrist."

"Okay, Admiral," she says, giving me sympathetic look."You know, Commander, you took a pretty big chance.He could try to claim that you assaulted him."

"Yeah, that's why I'm the one on the way to the emergency room and he's on his way to jail," I comment dryly.

"Was it worth it, Commander?"

"I'll let you know after I see Mac," I answer honestly.Only then will it truly be over.

+++

6:05 AM

"Harm," I mumble, my mind still wrapped up in the fog of sleep, "whatz racket?"I roll over with a groan, pulling a pillow over my head, but the incessant pounding invading my slumber doesn't stop."Harm?"

When I receive no answer and the pounding still doesn't stop, I roll back over, ready to shake Harm awake, only to find that I'm alone.I run my hand lightly over the space beside me, deciding that I've been alone for a while judging from the cool sheet beneath my fingertips.He must not have been able to sleep again and decided to go get us some breakfast.That's the only logical explanation.I just wish he would stop doing that.

Not the going to get us breakfast – or any meal - part.When I'd once told Harm that men I'd spent the night with usually made me breakfast, I'd been joking, a way of lightening the mood in the midst of our dire circumstances at the time.Most men that I've been unlucky enough to be involved with weren't that considerate, or if they did start out that way, it didn't last for long.It sure didn't last with my most recent relationship.What I wish is that he would stop leaving me alone in this huge bed.I really need to wake up in his arms, his comforting embrace telling me without words that everything will be finally be okay.In his arms, I can actually make myself believe that, even if only for a little while.

The pounding, which had stopped momentarily, starts up again, even more insistent, bringing with it a loud bark from Jingo, and I start to push back the covers, ready to give whoever it is hell for waking me up when I freeze, my hand clutching the sheets tightly.Oh God, what if it's Mic?What if he was waiting for Harm to leave so he could come after me again?Who else would be pounding on the door like that just after six in the morning?Okay, think, Marine.Where's Harm's gun?I slide over to his side of the bed and pull open the nightstand drawer.Empty.I check the other stand with similar success.Wait a minute.His desk.

I jump out of bed and run across the apartment to his desk, yanking open each drawer, growing more frustrated when I don't find it.He must have taken it with him when he left, for protection.Good idea, but it leaves me without any protection as my gun is still back at my apartment, left there in the excitement after what had happened.Anyway, why would I have needed it since Harm already had a weapon here?Jingo wanders over and stands next to me, eyeing the door warily as I kneel on the floor, pushing aside papers and books that had gotten pushed off the desk earlier, searching for the phone.If it is Mic, he's soon to find himself looking down the barrel of a police-issue revolver as they handcuff his sorry ass and haul him off the jail.That thought only makes me feel slightly better.

As my fingers close around the black plastic of the phone's handset, I am startled to hear a familiar voice shout from the other side of the door, "Colonel Mackenzie?It's Bud and Harriet."

I slump back against the desk, releasing a breath that I hadn't even realized that I'd been holding as Jingo nuzzles my shoulder, instinctively knowing the person on the other side of the door is a friend and won't hurt me.Thank God.The idea that it might have been Mic on the other side of that door scared me more than this Marine Lieutenant Colonel would care to admit.I take in a deep, shuddering breath."I'll be there in a minute," I call out, drawing in a few more steadying breaths as I stand and head back to the bedroom to throw some clothes on.

A moment later, dressed in a pair of boxers and one of Harm's button-down shirts, I open the door a crack, the bruised side of my face hidden behind the door as I smile sleepily as my friends as baby AJ waves at me from his father's arms.I reach out and clasp his tiny hand gingerly, hoping the expression that I'm giving him looks kind of like a smile."You're up early," I comment lamely, the only thing I can think of to say.

"Well, ma'am," Bud begins, his voice hesitant.I can't tell if he's nervous about dragging a senior officer out of bed so early or finding me in Harm's apartment wearing his clothes."We. . . ."

I cut him off as it suddenly occurs to me that when Bud called out, it was *my* name he called, not Harm's.A feeling of dread settles in the pit of my stomach like a dead weight and I swallow hard, hoping to dispel the unpleasant feeling.But it remains there, haunting me, taunting me."How did you know that I was here?" I demand, regretting my tone as soon as the words leave my mouth.It's not fair to take it out on Bud and Harriet because I've managed to royally screw up my life.

"Can we come in, ma'am?" Harriet asks, smiling as she absently rubs her swollen stomach.Way to go, Mackenzie.Let the pregnant woman stand out in the hallway.I pull the door open wider and motion them inside.As Harriet enters after Bud, she begins, "The Admiral said. . . ." stopping suddenly, clasping a hand over her open mouth.It takes me a moment to realize what she's staring wide-eyed at, what they both are staring at.As soon as I'd pulled the door open and allowed them in, I'd lost my shield, the barrier hiding my face from public view.

Before I can think of anything to say, Harriet recovers from her shock and throws her arms around me, hugging me awkwardly and I swear that I feel my goddaughter kicking between us.It's oddly comforting in it's own way."The Admiral asked us to come over," she explains tearfully, "but he didn't tell us why.He didn't tell us about this. . . ."

I pull back and look from Harriet to Bud, confused."What do you mean, the Admiral asked you to come over?" I ask, remembering to moderate my tone.That feeling of dread inside me grows more intense and I rub my forehead, trying to fight off the headache forming behind my eyes.

"Just that, ma'am," Bud replies, pushing the door closed then setting AJ on the floor, watching out of the corner of his eye as the little boy toddles over to Jingo, patting the dog's head while grinning back at his parents, that sweet little innocent grin of babyhood that seems to disappear all too soon as children grow up and realize just how bad the real world is."The Admiral called us and asked us to come over here, saying that you might need someone to be with you."

"Why would I need someone else to stay with me when. . . .he didn't say anything about Harm, did he?"My finally words come out in a rush as that feeling of dread becomes full fledged fear mixed with something else.Damn him to hell if he's gone where I think he has.Damn him.

"No, ma'am," he continues, shaking his head."He just asked us to come over here."

"Stop with the 'ma'am', would you?" I snap, covering my mouth as soon the words leave them.Bud and Harriet both look more saddened than upset at my tone.Harriet puts her arm around my shoulder and leads me towards the couch.

"Why don't we all sit down?" she suggests, sounding like someone's mother.That's what she is.She's a mother and maybe it's instinct to act like that.Or maybe it's just Harriet.My own mother was never like that."I'll fix us some breakfast while you relax, ma'am. . . .Mac."We sit down on the couch and I lean back, closing my eyes.They snap open again when Harriet whispers, "Bud, what are you looking at?"Then her face reddens as she realizes what he's looking at.

Oddly, I almost start laughing as I follow the direction of Bud's gaze to the desk, all the drawers still open, most of the content from the top scattered on the floor.It might look to the casual observer as if someone had been in a hurry looking for something on or in the desk. . . .except for the pile of clothes next to the chair.Earlier, after taking the edge off our hunger for each other, we left everything as is when we'd dragged ourselves back to bed, reasoning that we could clean up the mess in the morning.Only Harm's not here and I'm faced with two junior officers trying to decide whether they should be embarrassed or amused.I can't help smiling a little as I remember when I'd first tried to trick Bud into revealing that he and Harriet were hot-bunking several years back.Like so many other pleasant memories, it seems like that was another lifetime ago or maybe even part of someone else's lifetime.

I jump up from the couch and bend to scoop up the clothes, my cheeks flushing pink with my own discomfiture."I'll just clean up a little," I begin, stopping as it suddenly hits me like a blow to the stomach, knocking the wind out of me.I sink to the floor, clutching the clothes to me as if hanging on to a lifeline."He couldn't sleep and when I found him, he was cleaning his gun here at the desk," I whisper, barely aware of my friends staring at me, uncertain what to do."He was. . . .I don't know how to describe it.Lost and desperate and. . . .we didn't even think. . . ." I trail off as the little voice in the back of my mind finally gets my attention, reminding me that, friends or not, my sex life is hardly appropriate subject matter for a discussion with two junior officers.

But I can't stop thinking about those few scorching hot moments just hours ago.When I'd fallen into his arms, so many different emotions had been driving my actions.Pure need for the man denied to me for four long years.Loneliness at waking up by myself in his huge bed.Fear of my dreams of the man I'd considered giving myself in marriage to, the one who'd hurt me immeasurably.A desire to forget every man who'd ever been a part of my life but the one now with me.And maybe a need for affirmation that not all men are like Mic, that a man can be just a little rough without it crossing the line into brutality.

As for Harm, I'd thought that he'd been driven by ghosts – the ghost of the relationship that we could have had the last four years, the specter of what Mic had done to me, the apparition of blame for his part in all this.But I now realize that it was something more.It was desperation to hold me, to make love to me, perhaps for the last time.He knew.Even as he was burying himself in me, pressed up against his desk, he knew that something was going to happen today, something that could be the end or the beginning of everything.

We were both so lost in our own driving emotions that we even forgot such a fundamental as protection.Previously, we'd been so careful to use a condom, cognizant of the fact that we'd both been with other people mere days ago.But in the wee, dark hours of this morning, it never even occurred to us.I suppose I could rationalize that it shouldn't be too much of a problem.After all, we were both in monogamous relationships for so long that it would be reasonable to assume that disease isn't really an issue.But that pesky little voice in my mind is back to remind me that I haven't taken the Pill since Thursday.

Oh, God, I think as I look up at the ceiling, blinking away tears as it hits me full force the trouble that may visit us because of this.For the last year and a half, there's been little that I've wanted more than to carry and give birth to Harm's child.But instead of rejoicing at the tiny possibility that I just might find myself pregnant with his baby, I feel sick to my stomach.I don't think I could handle it if it were to happen like this, overshadowed by such black clouds as those currently hanging over our life.Just one more way I've managed to screw up my train wreck of a life.

AJ wanders over and presses a small hand to my cheek, his expression solemn.Children are amazing sometimes.It's like an instinct.They can tell when the people around them are happy or sad and they react to that.Forcing a weak smile, I drop the clothes I'm holding and gather the little boy into my arms, rocking him gently as I press kisses to the top of his head.AJ snuggles against my chest, content for the moment just to be held.He's usually such a wiggle worm and I wonder if he instinctively realizes how much I need to hold him, to hang onto something sweet and innocent and pure.

"Mac?" I hear Harriet ask and I look up to find her standing over me, holding a bottle of water out to me while Bud busies himself cleaning up the mess of papers and books on the floor around me.I climb up off the floor, hoping that my trembling isn't too obvious, still clinging to my godson, and take the offered bottle.I go over to the couch and curl up at one end, settling AJ into my lap as I play with the cap on the bottle, twisting and untwisting it."I'd thought to make you some tea, but the Commander doesn't have any."

"Could you imagine Harm drinking tea?" I muse, my voice dull, as Harriet sits back down on the couch herself, trying not to be too obvious about her scrutiny of me.

"I suppose not, Mac," she answers, shrugging.She pauses for a moment, indecision flashing across her features, then she says gently, "I'm sure the Commander's okay.I mean, the Admiral apparently knows what he's up to, so I'm sure everything will be just fine."

"I wish I could believe that," I reply softly, resting my forehead against the top of AJ's head."But Mic's such a loose cannon. . . ."

"Mic!?" Harriet exclaims softly and I lift my head up to find both her and Bud looking at me with identical expressions of shock and puzzlement."Oh, dear God. . . ."

"I didn't even think," I quickly explain.I gesture to my face."You just assumed some stranger did this?I wish.That would almost be easier than. . . .than. . . ."

"Dealing with the fact that the man you thought you loved did this to you?" Harriet finishes for me, her tone sympathetic.She reaches over and pats my arm sympathetically, but I flinch as she just happens to touch a spot still tender from bruises.Her eyes widen slightly."More bruises?"

I nod."Both arms and on my hip," I tell her.Bud finishes cleaning up and settles in the arm chair, looking at me with sympathy and something else that it takes me just a minute to comprehend.Understanding.Bud understands, to an extent anyway, what I'm going through because he's been there himself with his father.He understands the demons better than Harriet, dear as she is, ever could with her upper class upbringing and parents willing to give her everything she could have ever wanted and probably many things that she could never even think to want."And probably on the back of my head from where I hit the door knob."

"I don't know what to say, Mac," Harriet says nervously, fiddling with the hem of her blouse."I'd never thought Commander Brumby. . . .well, he always seemed nice enough."

"Seemed that way, didn't he?" I muse sarcastically, angry again at myself for not letting myself see through his controlling attitude."Except when he wasn't taking into account my feelings or when he was telling a national magazine that I was his fiancée when I wasn't or when he was constantly surprising me when I told him that I don't like being surprised.Finally, I decided. . . .well, there were some other things besides Mic's behavior driving my decision, but I told Mic that I couldn't marry him and. . . ."I trail off, unable to continue as Mic's brutality flashes through my mind, but I don't need to continue.I'm sure Bud and Harriet can figure out the rest.

"'Some other things'?" Harriet asks, drawing the conversation away slightly from what Mic did.Harriet is good, seeming to know instinctively just when to push and when not to."You mean Commander Rabb, don't you?You finally figured out that he's the one that you love, didn't you?"

That's Harriet, as perceptive as always.I nod, sniffing back tears."I love him so much that I ache inside when he's not around," I confess tearfully, rambling slightly."I was so devastated when he had returned to flying and when he came back to JAG, we just couldn't seem to connect.He thought that I'd had gotten involved with Brumby while he had been gone and, God help me, I never bothered to correct the assumption.Maybe I wanted him to be jealous and make a move for me?I don't know, and God I know that sounds awful, but then we almost lost him on the _Suribachi and that scared the hell out of me, so I tried to tell him how I felt.But we kept getting our signals crossed, we weren't listening to what the other was saying and I completely misread him and thought that he was rejecting me.Then Mic came along, saying and doing all the right things.He seemed to be offering me everything that I'd wanted from Harm and I jumped at it as if I were drowning in the middle of the ocean and he was offering me a lifeline.Then I'd showed up at the airport wearing Mic's ring and Harm must have felt like I'd stuck a knife in his gut, thinking that I was going to wait for him then finding out that I apparently wasn't.But he had to be so noble and step back, letting me be with Mic if that was what I wanted or what he thought that I wanted.I guess we'd both thought that we'd gotten so good at the denials and the pretense, but we'd never realized that we could only pretend so long before everything blew up in our faces and it finally did Friday night. . . ."_

"Mac, it's okay," Harriet tries to a assure me, scooting a little closer so she can put her arm around me."You're probably the strongest woman I know, but even the strongest person in the world needs to let themselves lean on their friends once in a while.Everyone has their breaking point and I'm sure with everything that's happened and not knowing where the Commander is or what he's doing right now, you've reached yours."

"Ma'am. . .Mac," Bud begins, speaking for the first time since they'd gotten hear.I look over at him through blurred, watery eyes."You and Commander Rabb have always been there for us, helping Harriet and I when we've needed it.It's time for you to let us be there for you, for both of you."

I somehow manage to briefly flash both of them a grateful smile."Thanks, both of you," I say.Before I can say anything else, the ringing phone interrupts us and I visibly tense, terrified at whom might be on the other end and at what they might say.Is it Mic, with more taunts and threats?Or could it be the Admiral, telling me that Harm and Mic have met with disastrous results?Or even Harm himself, full of apologies and explanations for leaving me alone to go after Mic?My breath catches in my throat as Bud gets up and picks up the handset from the desk, handing it over to me.

Taking a shaky breath in an attempt to steady myself, I pause a moment, then click on the phone."Hello?"I ask nervously, Bud and Harriet's eyes steady on me.

"Mac, it's Admiral Chegwidden," the voice on the other end says and I close my eyes, thanking God that it isn't Mic.

"Sir, where is he?" I demand before the Admiral can say another word."Is Harm okay?"

"He'll be fine," he tries to assure me, but my mind automatically latches onto his use of the future tense.

"What do you mean, 'he will be fine'?" I ask, hardly caring about the sharp tone I'm using with my CO."Where is he?What did Mic do. . . ."I barely notice as Harriet squeezes my shoulder in a comforting gesture as I throw questions at him faster than he can answer..

"Mac, Mic is in jail and Harm is in the emergency room at Bethesda being looked over, *just as a precaution*," he interrupts firmly, placing special emphasis on the last part, but I barely hear that.My mind won't let go of the fact that he's in the emergency room, injured, because of Mic, because of me."He will be fine, but for an apparent concussion and a possible broken wrist."

"We're on our way," I insist, hanging up on the Admiral before he can think to say anything else or to protest.I jump off the couch, handing AJ to his mother."Harm's at Bethesda and Mic's in jail.I need. . . ."

Bud takes AJ from Harriet as he nods assent."I'll take AJ down and get him strapped into the car," I hear him suggest to Harriet as I head for the bedroom to change."Why don't you stay with the Colonel while she changes?"He leaves with AJ, but I barely notice that, my mind wrapped up in fear and concern and even anger.

"What did the Admiral say about the Commander's condition?" Harriet calls out from the other side of the partition separating the bedroom from the rest of the apartment, her back towards me to give me some small measure of privacy, but I barely notice that either, my mind overloading with so many thoughts and feelings that I can barely process it all.

"He's got a possible concussion and a broken wrist," I reply hurriedly, stripping off the clothes I'm wearing and throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt."The Admiral insists that he'll be fine, but. . . ."

"You need to see him, ma'am," she finishes as I bound down the stairs, not even turning to make sure she's following as I head for the door.I head for the stairs, stopping only when Harriet calls out to me and I hear something jingling.I turn back to find her standing outside the door, holding up my keys."Do you have a key to the Commander's place, ma'am, so we can lock up?"

I shake my head as I head back to her, taking the keys from her hand."Wasn't thinking," I murmur, locking the door.

"I understand," she says sympathetically.I finish securing the door and head again for the stairs, this time forcing myself to maintain a slow pace out of deference to Harriet."But I'm sure the Admiral's right and the Commander will be fine.He's survived worse than this, I'm sure."

"Maybe," I murmur noncommittally.I know he's had worse physical injuries than what was described to me, but it's not the physical that concerns me so much.What the hell was he thinking, going after Mic?

We exit the building to find the minivan idling in front of the door, Bud and AJ both securely strapped into their seats, both front and rear doors open on the passenger side of the car.Harriet and I both climb in, Harriet in the front seat and me next to AJ in the back.As Bud takes off out of the alley with a squeal of tires that would do my Corvette proud, AJ reaches out a small hand to me, smiling his sweet little innocent smile.I take his hand as I lean my head against the back of the seat, closing my eyes as I try to close my mind to everything except the soft hand clasping mine.

+++

My attempt at finding some peace of mind only lasts until Bud pulls up in front of the hospital's emergency entrance to drop me off before going to park the car.I climb out of the car and race inside, doing little to control my trembling.The Admiral said he was fine.I keep repeating that to myself like a mantra, but I can't make myself believe it.I don't know if I can find it in me to have faith in anything anymore.I race up to the main desk, pressing my palms flat against the top of the counter, my breathing heavy and uneven as if I'd just run the fastest, most grueling mile of my life.

The petty officer behind the desk looks up at me, her lack of interest and boredom this early Sunday morning quickly turning to concern."Can I help you, ma'am?" she asks."How bad are you hurt?"

I shake my head almost violently."No, it's not me," I explain quickly, realizing that she's assuming that I'm the patient.Not an unreasonable assumption given the black and blue mark under my right eye."I'm here to see a Commander Harmon Rabb.He was brought in this morning with a possible concussion and broken wrist."

"Let me see," she says, punching a few keys on the computer in front of her."Was he a walk-in or brought in by ambulance?"

"Mac," a voice calls and I forget about the petty officer as I turn to see Detective Andrea Summers heading in my direction.

"What's going on?" I demand shakily as she reaches me, trying not to think about what it means to find a police detective here."What happened to Harm?"

"Why don't we sit down and I'll explain?" she suggests, taking my arm and leading me towards the chairs."He's a lucky man.He did a foolish think going after Mr. Brumby, but at least he had the sense to call your Admiral for help."

"Sounds like Harm," I say, laughing shortly."He's never been one to sit around and wait for others to solve problems that he thinks he can solve himself.Damn Squid."

"I don't want to alarm you," she says gently, "but I have a feeling that you'd appreciate no whitewashing.He's very lucky.Mr. Brumby had a knife and from what Harm has said already, Mr. Brumby was intent on killing him, which is the point at which your Admiral showed up.Fortunately, he will be fine apparently and if the DA's enterprising enough, a good case could probably be made for attempted murder."

I look up at the ceiling and breathe a sigh of relief.At least that's something.On top of everything else he's done, Mic should be out of our lives for a very long time while he's paying for his crimes.I look back down as Bud and Harriet come towards us.

"Mac, how is he?"Harriet asks as she sits down next to me with AJ in her lap, Bud taking a seat across from us.AJ holds his arms out to me and I take him onto my lap.For some reason that I can't explain, holding my godson is such a comfort to me.Maybe if I hold onto him long enough, I can lose myself in the innocence of childhood.

"I haven't been to see him yet," I reply, fighting back more tears.I can't remember the last time I've cried as much as I have this weekend, but I can't seem to make myself stop."Everyone keeps telling me he's going to be okay, but I need to see that for myself, right before I kick his six to the Adriatic and back for scaring me to death like this."

Harriet pats my hand and suggests, "Bud, why don't you go up to the desk and find out when she can go back and see the Commander?"

"Thanks, Harriet," I manage softly."I don't know what I'd do. . . ."

"Remember?It's time for Bud and I to maybe pay back a little of all you and the Commander have done for us over the years," she reminds me, squeezing my fingers."That's what friends do."

"I guess," I whisper.I shake my mind, trying to banish the negative thoughts haunting me."I'm sorry.Harriet, this is Detective Andrea Summers of the DCPD.She took my statement yesterday after. . . .well, anyway, Detective Summers, this is Harriet and that's her husband Bud Roberts and this is their little boy AJ."

Bud rejoins us and says, "He's upstairs in x-ray right now, but the petty officer said that he should be back down in a few minutes and someone will take you back to see him then.I was also told that the Admiral is making a few phone calls and will be back in a few minutes as well."

"I'd almost forgotten about the Admiral," I admit quietly.Maybe Harm and his one-track mind are rubbing off on me after all these years.I almost smile at the thought.

"Ma'am. . . .I mean, Mac, can we get you anything?" Harriet asks."Maybe something to eat or some coffee.We did get you out of bed, so I know you haven't had breakfast yet."

"I'm not really hungry."I can hear Harm's voice in my head, laughing at the absurdity of that statement.Since when am I not ever hungry?But I'm not sure that I could keep anything down right now, I feel so sick to my stomach.

"Hngy," AJ proclaims, giggling.

I smile at him."You're hungry, huh?Maybe Daddy can get you something to eat while we wait for Uncle Harm."

"Unca 'arm," he adds."Pwane."I laugh as I hug AJ close.

"Maybe Mommy and Daddy will let Uncle Harm and I take you for a day soon and we can go to the airfield and see the plane," I suggest and he nods happily in agreement, although he probably understands little of what I just said beyond Mommy, Daddy, Uncle Harm and plane.Harriet had told me that he and Bud had taken AJ to the airfield a few months back while I had been busy letting Mic snow me with his sweet talk and that AJ's new favorite word had become 'pwane' after that day.

I'd have given anything to have seen that and, when told the story, I hadn't been able to help thinking about the baby deal and I'd allowed myself to imagine Harm taking our child to the airfield for the first time.But then reality had intruded in the form of Mic asking me what had me looking like I was a million miles away and I'd tried to convince myself that I should feel guilty, thinking about having a baby with another man when Mic was there trying to give me the world.Would that I had listened to my subconscious back then.Any half-decent shrink could probably tell me that being unable to stop thinking about a man who was only supposed to be just a friend should have been like a flashing neon sign, it was so obvious.But I think I'd stopped looking at and listening to the obvious a long time ago.

"Unca AJ," AJ calls out and I look up to find the Admiral coming towards us.

Before I can launch into my anxious version of 'Twenty Questions', the Admiral holds up a hand as he sits down next to Bud."I was just on the phone with the police, arranging a time to go in and give them my statement about what happened this morning."

"What did happened exactly?" I ask, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.It doesn't matter that, Sunday morning or not, off-duty or not, I'm still speaking to my commanding officer."And don't leave anything out.You know I won't stop until I get it all out of you. . . .Sir."

"I'm aware of that, Mac," he says gently, seeming to not be bothered at all by my tone while Bud and Harriet look slightly stunned."From what I've been able to piece together from what Harm's said, Brumby called him sometime during the night. . . ."

"Damn him," I exclaim, startling everyone around me, including the baby in my arms.Instantly contrite, I begin rubbing his back to soothe him, rocking him in my arms.I continue in a softer tone, but no less harsh."He lied to me.The phone woke me up, but I couldn't hear what he was saying.He *told* me that it was just a wrong number."

"Anyway," the Admiral continues, ignoring my outburst, "he later called Brumby back and agreed to meet him."

"That's why he was cleaning his gun," I realize, my voice soft as this morning events replay in my mind.I was right.He did know then that something was going to happen.I must have come out of the bedroom just after he'd called Mic back."I just thought he couldn't sleep and needed something to do, just like that night when Clay. . . .I'm sorry, please go on."

He does so, saying, "On his way to the meeting, he called me and told me what was going on.I arrived at their meeting place just as Brumby was pulling a knife on Harm and the police arrived shortly after I'd restrained Brumby.Apparently, they'd driven by Harm's place and had noticed your rental missing and got suspicious and went looking for him."

"Sir, I'm grateful that you were there to help," I say, carefully choosing my words, trying to remember this time that I am speaking to the Admiral."But I wish that you could have talked him out of this instead of agreeing to help him."

"Colonel Mackenzie?"I look up to find the petty officer from the desk standing next to me."Commander Rabb has been brought back down and the doctor said you can go back to see him now."

"Thanks," I reply, handing baby AJ back to Harriet as I stand, ready to follow the petty officer back.Before I can leave, I'm stopped by the Admiral's hand on my wrist. 

"Mac, normally I probably wouldn't say anything," he begins slowly, as if trying to figure out how to best phrase what he's about to say.This is so unusual that I can't help but pause to listen."But I think that you need to understand something and I don't know if Harm will want to even mention it.He didn't call me because he wanted my help to bring down Brumby."

I shake my head, puzzled."I don't understand, Sir," I admit."Then why did he call you?"

He stands and leads me a few feet away to allow us some privacy."Mac, he called me because he was afraid," he continues, "and not of what he thought Brumby might do.I think he full expected Brumby to try to kill him and he was prepared for that."

I suppose that makes sense to a degree.Harm's been up against Mic once before and probably knew what to expect based on that experience and on Mic's current anger.But confusion is still hanging over me like a cloud."Then what was he afraid of?"

"He was afraid of what he might do to Brumby," he says quietly, "and of how you might react to that."

+++

The Admiral's words echo in my mind as the petty officer leads me back to a trauma room at the end of a long hallway.I know that Harm is capable of killing.I've even seen him kill before.But before it's always been in the line of duty or in the interests of protecting himself or others.It had just never occurred to me that something – or someone – could drive Harm to cold-blooded violence.But there's something more and, even if I can admit it to no one except myself, it scares the hell out of me.More than Mic, I'm the one who's driven Harm to this.

When I enter the room, Harm's head is turned away from me and it looks like his eyes are closed.Silently, I make my way over to the bed, carefully studying every bruise, every scrape as I lightly brush my hand over his hair.Despite everything, he actually looks relaxed in sleep.Maybe it's a peace that comes from knowing that everything's finally over, a peace that eluded him last night and this morning.A peace that I can't seem to find myself.

I plant a soft kiss on his scraped and bruised forehead and his eyes flutter open, his expression slightly dazed.Looking into his beautiful eyes, any anger that I'd felt for what he done, for how he'd deceived me dissipates and I sit on the edge of the bed, clasping his good hand between both of mine and kissing his fingertips."You scared me," I admit, resting my cheek against our joined hands."When Bud and Harriet showed up and I'd realized that you'd gone after Mic, I was terrified that something might happen to you."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, diverting his eyes."I just didn't want to risk you coming along and Mic trying to hurt you again."

I don't want to think about that right now, so I change the subject."How's the wrist?" I ask, nodding towards his other hand resting on the bed, encased in a temporary splint.

"The x-ray confirmed it's broken in two places," he replies."The nurse said they'd be back in a few minutes to put the cast on."

"I get first dibs on signing your cast when it's dry," I say, trying for gaiety, but failing miserably.

"That goes without saying," he responds, unable to raise his voice beyond dull and lifeless.We both fall into an uncomfortable silence, eyes darting around the room, quickly darting away when by chance our gazes fall on each other.I sigh softly, saddened that we seem to have taken a step back from each other.Mic's in jail but he's still managing to cast a shadow over our lives.

After a moment, Harm finally speaks again."I was talking to the Admiral earlier," he says."He had a suggestion and I'm beginning to think that it's a good idea and that we should at least consider it."

"He wants us to take some time off," I conclude, remembering our conversation yesterday when he'd suggested taking a day or two.

"Well, he suggested a little more than that," he continues, sighing."He thought that maybe we could get away for a few days, take some time to relax away from everything that's happened."

"I don't know," I reply."I'm so tired of running, Harm. I've spent the last year and a half running away – from you, from what I feel, from what I want – and I don't want to do it any more.I *can't* do it anymore."

"You're not the only one who's been running and who's tired of it," he counters quietly.He sounds disappointed, probably thinking that I'm dismissing the idea out of hand.Way to go.Still need to work on those communication skills, Mackenzie.

"Did you have something specific in mind?" I ask, trying to show an interest in the idea.I don't understand.I'd thought that when Mic was behind bars that it would be like this humongous weight had been lifted from my shoulders, but instead I feel like I'm staggering under an even greater weight.I guess freedom really isn't free.I just hope that we can live with the cost.

"Well, if you'll recall," he points out, "I had suggested that we go away in 'Sarah' next weekend.Well, that's probably out because of this."He lifts his right arm slightly off the bed, grimacing slightly and I wince.

"Do you need something for the pain?" I ask, concerned and unable to banish the thought that he wouldn't be lying here if it weren't for me.

"They already gave me something when I got here," he replies, slowly shaking his head.But that causes him pain as well.Even thought he doesn't say a word, I can see it in his eyes."Anyway, I had been thinking about taking you up to Pennsylvania to meet my grandmother.Maybe we could still do that, just driving instead of flying."

"You'd want to take me to meet your grandmother?" I question, slightly incredulous.I gesture towards my face."But what about. . . .after everything I've done, I'm hardly the kind of girl you'd take home to meet the family."

"Hey, watch who you knock," he says, trying to effect a teasing tone, about as successfully as I had just a moment ago."That's the woman I love that you're putting down.Anyway, my grandmother won't care about any of that.She'll probably take one look at you and decide that she needs to fuss over and take care of you."

"I wouldn't know what that would feel like," I muse sadly.It's funny.Harm's been through so much tragedy in his own life, but I'd give anything to have had his childhood.At least he knew that his family, even Frank thought he'll hardly admit it, loved him and would do anything for him.Outside of my Uncle Matt, I'd never had anyone care for me like that.

"When I need to get away to think or deal with things," he says, "I usually end up at Gram's.She just has this way of making me feel better, even without saying a word.I'd really like to share that with you."

I look down at my lap, nibbling nervously on my lower lip.I'm so scared with everything that we might fall apart and I don't know what to do about that.Maybe this is a good place to start.I just wish that I wasn't going to be meeting this woman whom I've heard so much about under these dark circumstances."I think I'd like that," I finally agree.

Harm pulls his hand from mine and presses it against my cheek offering me a small smile.I close my eyes, waiting to hear him tell me that everything will be alright.It saddens me when the words that I need so much to hear right now don't come.

+++

THE END

Look for the sequel, 'Searching For Sunny Skies', coming soon.


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